


I'll See You (in Gold and Blue)

by iambluehead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Harry writes for the Daily Prophet and is hilarious, Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff!Niall, I'm ot5 af, Louis plays quidditch as well, M/M, Niall puts up with all of them and gets all the girls, Not too much, OT5 Friendship, Quidditch player!Liam, Ravenclaw!Zayn, Smut, Some angst, again kind of i guess, i show off my knowledge of the harry potter universe and geek out over quidditch teams, insecure!zayn, kind of anyway, like big time, nerdy!Zayn, ok i'm done enjoy, prejudice against muggleborns, some au appropriate violence, the rest of them don't go to hogwarts, there's a dragon named Snufflelus and a salamander named Newt what more do you want, you don't have to have read the books/watched the movies but it would definitely help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:37:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iambluehead/pseuds/iambluehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam is a keeper for the Tutshill Tornadoes, a Hogwarts dropout, and, at seventeen, the youngest professional Quidditch player in England. Zayn is a seventh year Ravenclaw, most likely the next Newt Scamander, and maybe the only boy in the entire wizarding world who doesn’t keep up with Quidditch. It takes a dragon, three near death experiences, and most of the Daily Prophet’s gossip column journalists for them to figure it out but somehow, they get there in the end. Featuring Louis as Liam’s scheming teammate, Harry as a media intern who just wants an exclusive (and a boyfriend), and Niall as the world’s biggest Tutshill Tornado fan and Hogwarts’ biggest ladies’ man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll See You (in Gold and Blue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waking_dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waking_dreams/gifts).



> This monster of a fic is finally here!! I'm so happy (and relieved) to finally get this out into the great big world :')) it's been my entire life for a solid month and a half. 
> 
> This is for the ziam fantasy fic exchange. I was assigned to write a fic for Waking_dreams and I picked the prompt "Quidditch!au. Liam is a famous Quidditch player and zayn is either his number one fan or the only boy in England who doesn't follow his career." I hope you like it, and that you don't mind that I took that prompt and totally sprinted with it into the territory of elaboration and "things I really didn't need to write but wrote anyway." It's way longer than i'd originally planned....
> 
> disclaimer time! any formatting errors are due to ao3 totally fucking me over during the publishing process, but any other errors are due to me, my inability to find/keep a beta, and my minimal editing process. I don't know the boys, do not own any part of the 1d or hp franchises, and this does not represent real life in any way. 
> 
> I think that's all! a rebloggable tumblr link/graphic will be able to be found on my tumblr soon; I'll put in the link when it's up. please enjoy, and go read the rest of the exchange fics as well!!

Zayn’s halfway down to Hagrid’s house before he realizes he’s forgotten his gloves. 

“Fucking Niall,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, which earns him a strict glare from the nearest portrait. 

“You may be many things, Malik, but you are certainly not currently making love to that charming young Irish friend of yours,” she says sternly, face melting a bit at the mention of Niall, just because _fucking Niall’s_ got the entire castle’s worth of portraits in his pocket. (A more complete list of the things in Niall’s pocket would probably be half of Honeyduke’s, several Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes goods, at least three maps of the tunnels of Hogwarts, and most pressingly, Zayn’s gloves.)

“Shut it,” he tells the portrait, and takes off towards the Hufflepuff common room, which is conveniently located on the other side of the fucking castle. 

Bloody hell. He’d promised Hagrid he wouldn’t be late today, either. 

“Password?” the portrait on the Hufflepuff common room door asks, which is frankly ridiculous, because Zayn’s been swinging by here every day for seven years now, and the portrait knows perfectly well he’s a Ravenclaw.

“I’m just here for Niall.”

The portrait, a plump young woman with a bright yellow dress, gives him a dismissive once-over. “Ah, yes, hello there, Malik.”

“Hi,” he says impatiently. “I need Niall.”

“Right.” She turns around in her frame and yells into the common room, “Horan! Your Ravenclaw is here!” She turns back. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

Niall waltzes out of the common room minutes later, a broad beam on his sunny face. His blonde hair is styled up in its usual quiff, and the Quidditch captain’s badge on his chest shines importantly in the bright corridor. Zayn can practically hear three girls swoon from here, and there’s no one in sight. 

“I need my gloves, please tell me you have them somewhere close.”

Niall frowns. “Mate, s’only September, what d’you need gloves for?”

“Snufflelus,” Zayn says shortly, and Niall’s face brightens with comprehension. 

“Oh—well, in that case—” He digs in his book bag for a minute, then in his cloak folds, and then predictably draws them out of his robe pockets. “Ah, got ‘em.”

“Thanks, mate.” He quickly dons the dragon-leather gloves and ruffles Niall’s perfectly styled hair. “What’d you even need them for? Getting adlewood root out of the Potions classroom again?”

“You know it,” Niall says, and Zayn, rolling his eyes as his friend’s propensity for pranks, takes off for Hagrid’s.

He bursts through the older man’s door just a few minutes late—he stopped knocking a long time ago—and hurries over to where Hagrid is chopping up bloody mutton steaks on the table.

“Soz I’m late,” he says breathlessly. “Snufflelus out back?”

“’Course he is,” Hagrid says, handing him the bag of steak. “Hungry and waitin’ for yeh. Always rarin’ for a spin, that one.”

“Don’t I know it,” Zayn says a little grimly. “Tea afterwards, then?”

“Always.” Hagrid holds out a massive fist and Zayn taps his smaller one against it with a grin. 

It takes a few minutes’ walk into the Forbidden Forest before Zayn can hear Snufflelus—deep, rasping breaths and a marked silence of birds in the nearby vicinity. A couple more feet, and he can the sulfuric warmth, and then—a wall of pearly scales rears into his line of sight, and then an iridescent leathery wing, and then a full grown dragon is lifting its head and looking at Zayn with considerable excitement. The next minute, it’s capering towards him gleefully, dipping its head towards the mutton in Zayn’s bag and snuffling over his body with its scaly, hot head like it’s checking to make sure he’s still in one piece. 

“Hey, Snufflelus,” Zayn coos, running his hand over the delicate wings and then bringing his fingers up to tickle under the dragon’s chin. “How’s me favorite boy today, hm?”

The dragon lets out a _whuff_ of warm air against Zayn’s cheek. 

“Ready to eat? I brought y’some treats, and then we can fly.”

He spills the mutton onto the ground and watches fondly as Snufflelus tears at it with fearsome teeth. The dragon’s been under Hagrid’s protection for two and a half years now, and Zayn has the same sort of affection towards him as he does for his family dog back at home. Technically, keeping a dragon in what’s virtually your background is about as illegal as it gets, but everyone has long since given up on giving Hagrid a hard time about his unusual pets—Zayn knows for a fact that Harry Potter always puts in a good word for him at the Ministry, and ever since Zayn has started helping out around the magical creatures on the grounds, there have been fewer animal-related accidents at Hogwarts than there have been in two hundred years, so mostly Zayn and Hagrid are left to raise their monsters in peace. It couldn’t be a better arrangement for either of them. 

When Snufflelus is finished with the meat, Zayn whistles at him softly, prompting the massive creature to kneel down carefully. Zayn climbs onto the broad back that’s proffered to him, and settles himself into the smooth joint with neck and back, just above where the wingspan starts. He can grip the easier with his knees where it’s narrower, and the neck spikes are close enough to grab if the going gets rough. Once the dragon feels Zayn settle down, he breaks out into a short, waddling run, and takes off in one, seamless, graceful movement. 

The sensation of being on a real live dragon’s back never fails to take Zayn’s breath away—he can feel the massive muscles working under his legs, and the powerful thrust of the wings rocking Snufflelus’s body rhythmically. The view is stunning, with the castle and grounds shrinking to the size of a dollhouse below him and the clouds billowing freely around their legs. Once they get high enough that Zayn’s breath is coming short and his head is spinning, he performs a quick Bubblehead charm to give himself air; it’s now that he can truly enjoy it and relax into the broad sweeps of the dragon’s wings. The swoops and dives and spirals always make his stomach drop and squirm in the most exciting way, and before long he’s letting go of Snufflelus’s neck and pumping both fists into the air, crowing his exhilaration into the clear, cold air. Snufflelus’s answering keen is just as triumphant, and they go into a dizzying dive that skims them over the Great Lake and then shooting back up towards the clouds. Zayn’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. 

It takes two hours for Snufflelus to wear himself out, and by that time Zayn is nearly dead on his back. It takes a surprising amount of energy and concentration just to hold on to a flying dragon, and when that dragon happens to be doing spins, twirls, and flips—well, it’s exhausting to put it mildly. When they land, Zayn slithers off Snufflelus’s back and pats him a fond, tired farewell, promising to come to back soon before heading off Hagrid’s cottage for tea. 

It’s nearly dark by the time he gets back to the castle, and he’s aching for a warm bath and a good sleep. Tomorrow’s the weekend, at least, he thinks wearily. His homework can wait. 

***

“Here’s your room, dear,” Madame Rosmerta says, opening the door to a small, cozy bedroom with a deep-set window. “Just tell me if you need anything, all right?”

“I will, thanks,” Liam says, feeling exhaustion settle into his bones. The team had had a long practice, and he’s really feeling it now. 

“I’ll let you get settled in, then, dear, good night,” she says warmly, patting his shoulder. “Oh, and nice job in the game against Puddlemere United last week. That last save was amazing.”

“Thanks,” he says again, the hot glow of pride radiating out from his chest like it does every time someone tells him he’s good at what he does; he’s been a Keeper in the major leagues for a year now, and been playing Quidditch his whole life, but the feeling never gets old. He sets down the cage that carries his pet fire salamander, named Newt courtesy of Louis’ shitty sense of humor, and shrugs modestly. “Anything for the team; y’know how it is.”

She pats his shoulder one more time and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. He quickly strips himself of his robes, changes into pajamas, and falls into bed. For all his exhaustion, however, sleep doesn’t claim him immediately. His mind is still mulling over the practice they had today; he needs to work on his Double Eight Loop—

It’s odd, he thinks, being back in Hogsmeade. He dropped out of Hogwarts in the middle of his fourth year to work on Quidditch—a move that paid off a year and a half later when the Tutshill Tornadoes hired him—and he hasn’t been back since. It’s definitely not something he’s ever regretted, because Hogwarts never meant the same sort of thing to him as he knows it does to some of his students—no, his home away from home has always been the Quidditch pitch, and the fact that he’s on a seasonally undefeated major league team means more to him than OWLs or NEWTs ever could. But he does miss some of the comradery among the students; the isolation of being a self-contained community within the castle rather than the enormous, bustling world of Quidditch; not having to travel around the country all the time. And he misses being around more people of his age; most professional Quidditch players are in their twenties at least, and sometimes Liam feels childish and inexperienced next to them. Louis’ the closest one to his age at nineteen years old, and even then, the two years make a big difference sometimes, when it comes to experience and strategy. 

It’s not long after that that sleep claims him, and before long, the only motion in the room is the creeping moon shadows from the window across the floor. 

***

“Zayn—Zayn—guess what.”

Zayn rolls out his sore shoulders and turns to Niall indulgently. “What.”

“ _Guess._ ”

He sighs. “You’ve managed to complete all your Charms homework with no help from me.”

Niall frowns. “Be realistic, Zayn.” 

“I’ve got no idea, then.”

“Today is the Hogsmeade vist!” Niall blurts out, his words stumbling over themselves in his excitement. 

“There’s a Hogsmeade visit every month, Niall.”

“Not like today’s, there isn’t. Because guess who’s staying in Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“The minister?” When Niall gives him a flatly incredulous look, Zayn throws up his hands. “Just tell me, Niall.”

“ _The Tutshill Tornadoes_!” Niall says forcefully, his face taking on a fanatically reverent expression. “The actual bloody team, Zayn. They’re here. In Hogsmeade. The same weekend we get to go visit.”

“Brilliant,” Zayn says drily. “I’m sure that’s very exciting for you.” Then a thought strikes him. “Please tell me you’re not going to spend the whole visit trying to track them down.”

“Not tracking them down, exactly,” Niall begins, and Zayn already knows that this is going to be one of Niall’s spectacularly bad ideas. “I happen to know that they’re staying at the Three Broomsticks. So I may or may not—”

“—want to spend the whole visit in the Three Broomsticks waiting for one of them to come down,” Zayn says wearily.

Niall beams. “You know me so well.”

“I fuckin’ better, I’ve put up with seven years of listening to you talk about this,” he deadpans. “I’ll sit with you for a bit, then, I reckon, and then walk around a bit. I’ve got to get the new edition of Hermes Teffleto’s dragon anatomy book.”

“Nerd,” Niall says fondly, ruffling Zayn’s hair. 

“The new edition just has really—”

“—pretty drawings,” Niall says as they exchange beams. “I know.”

They’re perfect complements, Zayn thinks, both passionate about completely different things and yet able to respect the other for what they love. He can’t ride a broom to save his life (and actually gets quite panicky around heights when he’s not on a dragon’s back), and Niall’s terrified of most magical creatures, particularly dragons, but they’ve somehow fallen into a routine they’ve been keeping up for seven years now, a day in and day out rhythm of teasing and love and bonding.

“See you when it’s time to leave, then?” Zayn asks, and they both stand up from the tables in the Great Hall as breakfast ends. 

“Sure thing, mate.”

They part ways to go to their respective common rooms, and Zayn watches as Niall sashays over to join a group of Hufflepuff girls; they all giggle a little when he walks up to them. There’s always been something about him that shines very brightly, so Zayn wasn’t surprised at all when it started manifesting itself in Niall’s undeniable charisma, and even less surprised when the Irish boy starting bagging girls left and right with his sunny, confident smile, admirable Quidditch skills, and charming accent. Zayn’s always been the quieter one; he’s had his share of relationships and flings, but he doesn’t have the outgoing personality and easy-to-talk demeanor that Niall does. It’s just another way they complement each other, and neither of them has ever been jealous of the other. 

Zayn usually doesn’t take much on the Hogsmeade trips; he has a few classmates who like to fill up on sweets, Quidditch paraphernalia and pranks, but usually all he buys are a few books and maybe some Honeyduke’s candy. Today, however, he throws a little bit more money into his bag because he has the feeling that Niall won’t be willing to leave town until he’s seen at least one member of his favorite Quidditch team in person. 

They leave a bit before lunchtime, so Niall and Zayn plan to go to the Three Broomsticks first to have a bite to eat, and then Zayn’ll walk around a bit and buy his things. Niall, of course, won’t be moving. 

“I’ll have me pints, I’ll have me team, and I’ll have me Quidditch mates from Hufflepuff come and keep me company while you’re out,” Niall says cheerfully. “Don’t you worry about ditching me, Zayner.”

“I won’t be gone too long,” Zayn promises. “Just want to pick up m’books and some sweets, stretch me legs, and then I’ll come back and have a butterbeer with you.”

“Butterbeer,” Niall scoffs. “You’re an amateur, Malik. M’of age now, so I don’t even have to bribe anyone to get my hands on the good stuff.”

Zayn opens his mouth to reply, but before he can get the words out, someone slams into him from behind, nearly knocking him over as a bulky body roughly shoves past his. 

“Move it, Mudblood,” a boy’s voice snarls as Zayn regains his footing.

“Watch your mouth, Michelson,” Niall growls immediately, his hand protectively grabbing onto Zayn’s arm. “Don’t make me jinx you into a jelly.”

The boy in question, a tall Slytherin seventh year with blond stubble and a strong nose, sneers right back at them. “You wouldn’t even be able to get your hand on your wand before I’d be hexing you into tomorrow.”

“Keep thinking that,” Niall says, his hand like a vise around Zayn’s arm. 

“We could test it out, sometime, if you’d like—”

“Oh, just keep fucking moving, you arsehole,” Zayn says. “We all know you’d love to get in a dick measuring contest with someone, but we also know you wouldn’t show if it came down to it, because we’d need an enlarging charm even to see yours.”

“You little—”

Zayn flips up both middle fingers in Michelson’s face and keeps striding past him, pulling Niall along with him. 

“I fuckin’ hate that bloke,” he says as soon as they’ve gotten a ways away. “He’s the type that gives Slytherins a bad reputation when ninety percent of them are really decent.”

“A real dick,” Niall says fervently. “Sure you don’t want me to walk with ya for a bit, make sure he doesn’t come back?”

Zayn rolls his eyes fondly. “M’good, Nialler. I’m a Ravenclaw, yeah, I know me spells if he tries anything.”

“Okay.” Niall pauses in front of the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. “Ready for some grub, then?”

“Always,” Zayn says, and they walk into the pub together.

***

“Hitting the town tonight, Payno?” Louis asks brightly when they run into each other in the hallway. “Harry said he’d be able to apparate here later today, so I’ll probably wait to go out until then.”

Louis is the Seeker for the Tornadoes, and probably the most energetic person Liam has ever met. He’s also closer to the older boy than any of the other team members, partially because they’re closer in age than anyone else, and partially because they both share a common interest of kissing boys. 

“Just going out to get sweets,” Liam says. “Haven’t had Honeyduke’s in ages, yeah.”

“Bring me back some Fizzing Whizbees?” Louis says, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “I’ll pay you back.”

Liam grumbles an affirmative and heads for the door. “Only if you tell Harry you love him,” he throws over his shoulder, not even needing to look to know that Louis has turned a bright red.

“I don’t fucking love him, you prick!” Louis shouts as the door swings shut behind Liam. 

Which is a total lie, of course. Harry is the only person that Liam’s ever seen Louis get soft and unaggressive and giggly around, and Louis is the only person that Harry gets shy and nervous and fond around, and they can say whatever they want, but Liam is convinced that means they’re in love. Harry tags along with them quite a bit, too, because he’s an intern working for the Daily Prophet, and having a childhood friend who’s the Seeker for a famous Quidditch team is considered too good of an advantage for him to pass up, even when it means he has to skip actual working hours at the newspaper. 

It’s only a short walk to Honeyduke’s from the pub, but Liam’s still a little bit nervous about being recognized. The Tornadoes have a near-religious following in the younger wizarding community, and he knows there’s a Hogwarts visit today, which means there’s a large chance he’ll get recognized. And the sweet shop is nearly always packed . . . . 

Liam’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize he’s knocked into someone until the person says, “Whoa there, mate, in much of a hurry?”

“God, I’m sorry,” he says, abruptly coming back down to himself. “You all right?”

“Yeah, no harm done,” the bloke says, and then Liam’s eyes land on his face, and—

Well, he’s bloody beautiful, with the way his dark hair sweeps back from his forehead and the way his golden-brown eyes scrunch up when he smiles at Liam and the way his cheekbones stand out sharply like someone’s chiseled them out of his face using the sharpest sculpting knife on earth. Liam doesn’t know much about art but he’d be willing to bet that this boy counts as a masterpiece. 

“I’m—” He says, and then because he’s a bloody idiot, no more words come out. 

There’s a moment of slightly uncomfortable silence where Liam squirms under that calm golden gaze, and then the boy, blushing a little, turns to hold open the door to Honeyduke’s and says, “After you, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Liam says numbly, cussing himself out in his head for being such an awkward piece of shit. He’s never like this, honestly—he’s not the best at flirting, but he has enough confidence, attractiveness, and genuine interest in other people to be at least mildly talented at holding a decent conversation. He can’t even remember the last time he was this tongue tied. 

“No problem, mate,” the boy says easily, stepping into the chocolate scented warmth after him. 

There’s another brief, awkward pause, and then Liam blurts out, “Right, well, sorry again. See you around?”

“Yeah,” the boy says, and then quickly melts into the crowd that’s thickening inside the shop. Liam stares after him for a moment, trying to straighten his thoughts out, and then quickly starts searching for Louis’ requested sweets. 

He’s an internationally famous Quidditch player. He doesn’t need to be pining after pretty boys. 

***

Zayn turns to throw a last glance at the boy he’d bumped into, but he’s already disappeared into the merrily chattering groups of Hogwarts students that are filling up Honeyduke’s. Which brings something to Zayn’s mind—the boy hadn’t been wearing Hogwarts’ robes even though he’d definitely been Hogwarts age. 

Honestly, Zayn wouldn’t be surprised if he’d hallucinated the whole thing. No one real has the right to be that attractive. And definitely no one that attractive would ever look at Zayn twice. 

He shakes his head a little to clear it of lingering images of broad shoulders and warm eyes, and goes to pick up a bag of toffees for Niall. The Irish boy probably won’t want to leave the pub for fear of missing one of the Tornadoes, but he knows that his friend has a weakness for the crisp golden toffees that Honeyduke’s sells by the pound. He only spends a few more minutes in the crowded sweet shop to grab some Chocoballs for himself, and then he’s hurrying across the street to pick up his dragon anatomy book. Hogsmeade is considerably less fun without Niall’s brilliant excitableness at his side, but it is nice to be able to spend as much time as he likes poring over the old magical zoology books full of beautiful drawings and poetic passages that Tomes and Scrolls has in the back of store without having to worry about boring the other boy. And at least he doesn’t have to make a stop in the Quidditch store this way.

He says hello to a few of his fellow Ravenclaws who are ooh’ing and ahh’ing over a new book on the theory of protective charms, and pays for his book before heading back to the Three Broomsticks. 

“Any luck?” he asks Niall when he sees the other boy hunched over a pint at the bar. There are a few of his Hufflepuff Quidditch mates surrounding him, but they all companionably make room for him with murmured greetings; he’s been hanging around Niall for as long as anyone at Hogwarts can remember, so despite the fact that they belong to different houses, they’re sort of a package deal. 

“None at all,” Niall says glumly. “Fancy a pint?”

***

“The Kestrel match is canceled?” Louis asks incredulously. “We haven’t canceled a match in—” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Well, we haven’t canceled a match since the first year I joined.”

Paddy, the team coach, simply shrugs. “Weather’s far too bad in Kenmare to be playing until at least next Saturday. So I suppose we’ll stay here for rest of the week, rest up a little bit, and let the Kestrels wait out the storm. You boys all deserve a bit of a break, anyhow. You’ve been working hard all season.”

“Where are we going to practice?” Liam asks dubiously. “Hogsmeade doesn’t have a pitch, does it? S’why they don’t have a team.”

“No, they don’t,” Paddy says. “But Hogswarts does.”

“We’re going to practice at Hogwarts?” 

“Why not?”

“Dunno . . .” Liam’s mind flies unbidden to the boy he’d run into at Honeyduke’s, wondering if he plays on one of the school teams. Probably not. If he was any kind of avid player, he would have recognized Liam, and that’s not just Liam overinflating his own importance. Maybe he’d recognized him but had been decent enough not to say anything. “Don’t they have their own teams that need to practice?”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to arrange at least a few sessions with Headmaster McGonagall,” Paddy says. “In the meantime, stock up on sweets, go have a few butterbeers, and relax a bit. God knows you deserve it.” His face breaks into a smile. “Undefeated for the season so far, boys. Maybe this is the world’s way of telling us to cut ourselves some slack.”

He claps them both on the shoulder and strides away. Louis and Liam exchange glances and then shrug. 

“Sounds all right with me,” Louis says. “Haven’t been on the Hogwarts pitch in years, though. It’ll be weird to go back.”

Liam shrugs. “You and Harry have plans tonight?” 

“Yeah, dinner. You can tag along if you’d like.”

Liam laughs. “Don’t worry, Lou, I won’t intrude on your date.”

“It’s not a date!”

“Sure, and my broomstick’s not a Firebolt.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Louis retorts. “You were slow enough in that last match.”

“I was brilliant, and you know it.”

Louis rolls his eyes and makes a dive to pin Liam in a playful headlock, but Liam jumps away at the last moment. “C’mere, you.”

Liam takes off running down the halls of the pub, Louis hot on his heels and all thoughts of pretty boys who go to Hogwarts driven from his mind. 

***

“You want me to what?” Zayn asks flatly, and Niall’s face falls a little. Which, of course, immediately makes him feel awful. “I mean,” he says, quickly trying to remedy his mistake, “Are they really coming?”

“I know for a fact,” Niall says emphatically, his expression brightening again. “They’re coming to practice here tomorrow, and it’s after my classes are over, too.”

“So when are they gonna start?”

“Five.”

“I have Ancient Runes until five thirty, and then I’m gonna have t’go check up on Snufflelus.” He sighs a little, rubbing a thumb along the side of his jaw. “So I’ll be late but. I’ll be there.”

Niall beams, which is enough to make Zayn only marginally regret his commitment. When Niall smiles, it’s like the sun coming out—he smiles not only with his whole face, but with his whole being. “You’ll see how brilliant they are,” he promises. “They didn’t win the National Cup for three seasons straight for nothing, Zayno.”

“I never said they weren’t good,” Zayn grumbles. 

“Good?” Niall says. “ _Good?_ Zayn, the Tutshill Tornados aren’t good, they’re—they’re— _legends_. Absolute legends. And we’ll be able to watch them practice on _our_ pitch. S’a once in a lifetime opportunity, bro.”

“Right.” Zayn’s momentarily distracted by a head of short brown hair and a pair of broad shoulders in the crows of students around them, but then the person turns around, and—well, it’s not who he thought it was. “’Ey, Nialler.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You know a bloke with brown hair, brown eyes—erm—well built, I reckon? He’s quite friendly, looks like he might be a Quidditch type bloke.” 

“That’s not really a specific description,” Niall says dryly. “Got anything else for me to go on?” 

“Not really,” Zayn admits. “Just ran into this bloke at Hogsmeade, and he wasn’t wearing school robes, so I was, like. Wondering.” 

“Guess you’ll have to keep wondering.” 

They part ways at the Ravenclaw common room, and Zayn goes to bed without thinking about the boy again. 

*** 

The Quidditch pitch is cold as hell and dampened under a depressing drizzle—it’s definitely not Zayn’s idea of fun, but when he climbs up on the stands, Niall is grinning as brightly as ever. 

“They’re doing brilliantly,” he says, waving Zayn over to where he’s sitting with a few other Hufflepuffs—Josh Devine, Ed Sheeran, and Perrie Edwards. 

“That’s good,” Zayn says, acknowledging the other three with a friendly nod. “S’bloody cold out, Jesus. 

“Do a heatin’ charm, then, you’re the Ravenclaw,” Niall says. “Now shut up and watch Louis Tomlinson, he’s fuckin’ amazing.” 

“Which one’s he again?" 

Niall sighs in mock exasperation and points out a small brown haired boy on a slender broom that he maneuvers around the pitch with careless grace. “’E’s the Seeker. Absolutely fantastic catch he made two games. Probably one of the best Seeker in England, if not the world.” 

Even though Zayn’s always been a bit cynical about Quidditch, he can’t deny that Louis Tomlinson has a way on a broomstick that makes even the most mundane move captivating. He hardly looks like he’s supported by the broom at all; the ease with which he flies is so natural that Zayn can almost believe that he’s weightless and floating on his own. 

“That’s Nick Grimshaw—he’s the captain,” Niall says as a tall, dark haired man flies by. “He’s a Chaser, and a bloody good one, too. Best known for his penalty scoring.” 

A whirl of silky brown hair whips by on a lightning-fast broom, and Niall’s tone becomes reverent. “And _that_ is Sophia Smith. New to the team this season, and already setting herself up to be a fuckin’ legend. One of the best damn Chasers around.” 

“Sounds like someone quite fancies her,” Ed says with a grin, and Niall shoves at him, rolling his eyes. 

“She’s brilliant on a broom, shuddup.” 

“Bet she’s brilliant at riding something else, too,” Josh says with a wicked grin, and this time both Perrie and Niall put up a storm of protest, Perrie smacking Josh’s shoulder lightly. 

“Okay, who’s this one,” Zayn says quickly, pulling Niall’s attention away from the scuffle. 

“Ah, s’the last Chaser, innit. Paul Higgins. ‘E’s also co-manager of the team—the only Quidditch player in England that has a share in his team. So he’s pretty invested in the Tornadoes, like. Oh, and those two are the Beaters, Bo and Buck. They’re twins, and all, can’t tell ‘em apart for the life of me, but bloody Christ can they ever hit a Bludger.” 

There’s a slight commotion on the pitch, and Zayn watches Louis Tomlinson zips across the field to high five the Keeper who’s flying in steady circles around the farthest set of hoops. There’s a faint cry of “Nice one, Payno!” and then the pair fly out to circle the pitch together, grinning and shoving each other companionably. 

“And that is Liam Payne,” Niall says, his voice taking on a tone that could only be described as awed. “Fucking legend, ‘e is. Youngest professional player in England, one of the best Keepers in the world, and already has a move named after him—the Payno swerve.” 

“Nice,” Zayn says, watching as he zooms across the field to talk to another player briefly and then whips by their spot in the stands. 

Wait. 

He’s seen that face before. 

“What’s he look like?” 

Niall frowns. “Um—brown hair, brown eyes. Broad sort of bloke—wait.” A look of incredulity crosses his face. “You don’t reckon . . .” 

“I think so.” 

Niall’s jaw drops. “You lucky bastard. Spent me whole afternoon waitin’ for these buggers, and you just run into one at the sweet shop. Unbelievable.” 

“Yeah, s’ppose so,” Zayn says slowly, feeling a faint, hot inner rush of embarrassment flood into his chest. To think that the boy at Honeyduke’s had been even the smallest bit attracted to him! Someone like Liam Payne wouldn’t even look twice at someone like Zayn—the bloke has the entire world at his fingertips. He definitely wouldn’t be wasting his time on an average, slightly shy Hogwarts student without a single claim to fame except the fact that he’s befriended a dragon that by legal standards, he shouldn’t even be within thirty feet of. He can feel the fire of shame burn a little brighter in his ribcage at the thought of his own presumptuousness. 

The rest of the practice is mainly spent listening to the Hufflepuffs analyze the techniques the Tornadoes are using, and trying to prevent a group of neighboring Gryffindors from eavesdropping on their own strategies for the next Hogwarts game. Zayn puts all thoughts of Liam Payne out of his head once and for all, and concentrates as hard as he can on finally trying to learn the rules of Quidditch. 

*** 

Liam’s a bit self-conscious in front of the crowd of students that show up to watch their practice at first, but soon it feels no different than practicing in front of an empty stadium. The majority of the students watching must be fans of theirs, he figures, so it’s not as though they’re going to be sharply critical of the team’s moves. They have a pretty solid practice, overall, and then they go back to Hogsmeade after signing a few autographs for some students who stayed for the whole practice. 

(Liam totally doesn’t keep an eye for the boy from the sweet shop, no, not at all. It wouldn’t make sense to, because if the boy didn’t recognize him there, there’s no way that he cares enough about Quidditch to come watch them practice. It’s not like Liam keeps his hopes up and looks for him anyway—not even briefly—in the crowd of watching students.) 

The team eats a boisterous dinner—but not boisterous enough to give the papers something to write about, because god knows they’re always fishing for a story, even when Harry’s there as a buffer to filter out all the worst fabrications—in the Three Broomsticks, and then go up to their separate rooms. Usually, not being on the road makes Liam antsy, but for some reason this unplanned break is only relaxing him. It’s nice to have a bit of a breather in between the hectic game schedules, especially when they have time to practice. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts when he enters his room that he doesn’t notice Newt is unusually quiet until a few moments have passed. Frowning, he opens the cage to ensure that the salamander hasn’t escaped, and instead sees him curled up in the corner, his tail limp and eyes closed. 

“Hey, lad, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, reaching in to scoop up the forlorn creature and stroke his dullened scales. “Did y’eat something, maybe?” 

After a few moments of observing him, Liam takes him into Louis’ room, where the older boy and Harry are sprawled out on the bed fiercely debating which of them would win in a duel. 

“Liam!” Louis cries immediately as Liam walks in. “Just the man I wanted to see. Tell me something—do you think I’d win if we dueled? I would, wouldn’t I? Harry can’t duel to save his life.” 

“Not true, _Lewis_ ,” Harry says. “I would kick your lovely ass very easily.” 

“You two are so flirtatious that neither of you would have the time to cast a spell in between the hit up lines,” Liam deadpans. “Now can you take a look at Newt? I think there’s something wrong with him.” 

Louis, who is extremely fond of the salamander, instantly sits up and takes him into his hands, gently looking him over and cooing at his dispirited demeanor. 

“I dunno,” he says finally, handing him back over. “He looks sick or summat. When we go up to the castle to practice tomorrow, ask if you can have Hagrid have a look at him. He’s really good with animals, and all.” 

Liam blanches a little at the thought of asking the larger-than-life man for help—not only does his size quite intimidate Liam, but the knowledge that he’s famous for his relation to the most well-known figure in wizarding history, Harry Potter, makes him twice as frightening. 

“Yeah, s’ppose so. I’ll take him with us tomorrow, then.” He looks at the small lizard sadly. “He never feels poorly, wonder what happened.” 

“Don’t feel too bad about it,” Louis says drily. “I’ll see later, then, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Liam takes back Newt and walks back out into the hall, pausing in the doorway to turn around and say, “Use protection, you two.” 

Harry turns a bright red, but Louis just snorts, running his fingers through Harry’s hair fondly. “Please. Haz just wishes he could get this.” 

Liam rolls his eyes and walks back to his room. He has a running bet with himself about how long it’ll take them to get their shit together. He gives it another two weeks before they finally crack. 

*** 

After practice the next day, Liam heads to Hagrid’s hut with considerable apprehension. He feels it might be a bit presumptuous to just show up and ask for help when he doesn’t know Hagrid and isn’t even a student, but Hagrid has always been reported to be friendly, so maybe he won’t mind too much. And Newt has gotten worse overnight—his scales are falling off when Liam rubs them comfortingly, and he can barely open his eyes. So it’s not as though Liam really has a choice at this point. 

The roughly hewn door of the hut swings open almost immediately when Liam knocks on it, Hagrid’s huge figure appearing in the doorway with a bright smile on his bearded face. 

“Done so soon? I’d thought yeh’d be a while yet—” He stops abruptly and peers down at Liam, frowning. “Oh. Sorry there, lad, I thought yeh were someone else.” He peers a little closer. “You’re not a student, are yeh?” 

Liam shifts a little uncomfortably. “No, I’m from the Quidditch team that’s practicing on this pitch this week? And I—” 

“The Tutshill Tornadoes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I know a bloke who loves you lot! Thinks you’re right brilliant. In fact, he—” Hagrid breaks off. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re here for a reason. How bout yeh come in, have some tea, and tell me about it.” 

Liam steps into the hut awkwardly, murmuring his thanks. It’s not often that he feels small around other people—he’s not especially tall, but he’s broad and muscled enough to make his presence easily felt—but he feels tinier than a child sitting at the enormous kitchen table. 

“Right,” Hagrid says, pouring Liam a bucket-sized cup of tea. “What’s the problem, then? I s’ppose yeh didn’t just want a chat—not that I’d be complainin’ if yeh did, o’course.” 

“Well—no—I have this salamander?” Liam says, bringing Newt out of his pocket. “And, like, he’s been really listless and limp and tired since last night. And his scales started falling out this morning. And, like, I thought since you know a lot about animals, that maybe you could help? If it’s not too much trouble. I’ve got money—” 

Hagrid waves him off. “Don’t you worry about that, lad. I’d be glad to help. Although I think this might require a wand, so I might have to ask you to—” A sudden mischievous smile crosses his face. “Actually—I think I might give Zayn a bit o’ a surprise.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “He’ll still be at the edge o’ the forest, I think. D’you mind walking out to forest? It’s not too far, and yeh won’t have to go in.” 

“Sure, I don’t mind,” Liam says cautiously. 

“All right, then—it’s a few hundred yards from my pumpkin patch. Once you get around the edge of the woods there, you should see a seventh year bloke sitting there somewhere. That’s me apprentice—well, sort of—he helps me out quite a bit now that I’m gettin’ fat and old.” The big man laughs heartily. “He’s hard to miss, believe me. He should be sitting out there sketching bowtruckles. An’ he’ll be able to help yeh with yer salamander. Got a right knack for animals, that one.” 

“Edge of the forest by the pumpkin patch, Zayn, sketching bowtruckles,” Liam repeats dutifully. “Got it. Thanks so much. And for the tea, too.” 

“Any time.” Hagrid pauses, and then looks slightly embarrassed. “Would yet mind signing somethin’ for me, maybe? Like I said, I know this bloke who would die to meet yeh; he’d kill me if I met yeh and didn’t get an autograph.” 

“Absolutely,” Liam says. “You have a quill?” 

“O’course—well—it’s here somewhere.” Hagrid rummages around for a bit before fishing out a crumpled piece of parchment and a battered quill. Liam signs the parchment quickly, thanks Hagrid for his help again, and then heads out to the forest. 

He sees a black robe-clad figure hunched on a stump quickly enough, but even from behind, Liam can tell that the boy is deeply immersed in whatever he’s doing, and he feels rather bad for disturbing him. He stands there awkwardly for a few minutes before finally reaching out to tap the boy on the shoulder, making him startle a little before quickly turning around. 

There’s a moment of breathless, startled silence as they stare at each other, but it still takes a few beats for Liam to realize that the boy looking back him with a faint, flustered flush of pink to his cheeks is the same boy he’d run into at Honeyduke’s on Saturday. 

“Erm—hey,” the boy—Zayn—says awkwardly. “Aren’t you one of the Tornado players?” 

Liam feels his cheeks burn (he’s not even sure why) as he nods. “Yeah, m’the Keeper,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and offering Zayn an embarrassed half smile. 

Zayn nods, considering him for a second with a sharp amber gaze before standing up and holding out his hand for Liam to shake. “I’m Zayn?” he says, his voice lilting up a little at the end like he’s unsure if Liam really wants to know. “S’ppose you’re lost or somethin’, then? I can show you back to Hogsmeade if you’d like.” 

“Oh—no—actually Hagrid sent me down here. I have a sick salamander, so I came to him for help, but he said to come down to you.” 

Zayn’s face brightens a little. “Oh, really? What’s the problem, then?” 

Liam draws Newt out of his pocket and watches unhappily as the salamander curls up in a miserable ball in his palm. “He’s just, like, super listless and his scales are falling out.” 

Zayn reaches out to touch the salamander, but then abruptly stops himself, eyes darting up to Liam’s. “Is it okay if I—” 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Liam hands Newt over and then shoves his hands in his pockets, watching as Zayn gently strokes his lizard and frowns as a few scales come off in his hand. 

“I think he’s got scale-rot?” he says after a moment. “There’s a set of charms that’ll fix him up pretty easily, but it’ll take a few days to perform them all. I can teach them to you if you’d like, or if you’re all right with leaving him here with me, I can do them.” 

“Could you do it?” Liam asks hesitantly. “I just, like, don’t want to fuck it up. Like if I try it and then bring him back with no legs—” 

_“That’d be a little harder to fix, yeah,” Zayn laughs._

“But only if it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Not at all, I’d love to have him.” Zayn tickles the top of Newt’s head where the scales are still relatively secure. “We’ll have a good time together, won’t we, little lad?” He looks back up at Liam. “The charms are pretty simple; there’s not much chance of this going wrong, for the record, so don’t worry about him.” 

“Is it that obvious I’m a huge worrier?” Liam asks, laughing. 

Zayn holds up one hand with the fingers an inch apart, grinning. “Just a little.” 

“Well . . .” Liam scuffs the toe of his shoe into the ground and then looks up with a shy half-smile. “I think he’s in pretty good hands, to be honest. So maybe I won’t be worrying all that much.” 

A silence stretches out between them like a rubber band for a spilt second, and then Zayn laughs and looks away. 

“I guess that’s it, then. You need a pointer back to Hogsmeade?” 

“Nah, m’good. Thanks for agreeing to take care of Newt.” 

“ _Newt?_ ” 

“Me mate Louis’ an idiot.” 

“Does he realize that Newt isn’t actually a newt, or what?” 

“Oh, he knows,” Liam says grimly. “That’s exactly why he named him that.” 

Zayn snorts. “Think we all have a friend like that, to be honest.” He pauses and then says. “Erm, I never caught your name, by the way.” 

“Oh—” Liam feels rather foolish; he’s become so used to not having to introduce himself to people—to just being recognized on sight—that it didn’t even occur to him that Zayn didn’t know his name. “I’m Liam.” 

“Right, right. Sorry.” Zayn touches his temple self-deprecatingly, a _what can you do_ kind of gesture. “Totally knew that.” 

“Didn’t expect you to.” 

Zayn just grins. “See you in a few days then? I’ll send an owl to the Three Broomsticks when he’s ready.” 

“Sure thing,” Liam says. “Thanks again.” 

“No trouble at all, Liam.” 

*** 

“So let me get this straight,” Niall says. “That weird lizard thing you're currently holding in your hand belongs to Liam Payne? The one and only Liam Payne? As in, the youngest Quidditch player in England? Are you _sure_?” 

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Zayn says, tapping one of Newt’s scales with his wand and watching it restore itself to its former shininess and red-orange color. “You have that autograph Hagrid got you for proof, don’t you?” 

“And you didn’t even realize it was him until he told you?” 

Zayn shrugs. “I mean, I knew he was one of the players from the Tornadoes, but I didn’t know he was that one. Is he your favorite?” 

Niall glares. “I don’t have a favorite,” he says haughtily. “They’re all brilliant, and they all help out the team in different ways—how could I ever choose.” 

“Right.” Zayn taps another scale. “He was nice, I reckon.” 

“Liam Payne is more than just—” 

“I get it, you’d eat his arse any day of the week even though you’re one hundred and ten percent straight,” Zayn deadpans, and Niall bursts out laughing. 

Zayn shakes his head, smiling. “It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.” He holds Newt up to the light, watching as the lamp reflects gently off the healed scales. The salamander basks in the heat, rubbing his head along Zayn’s thumb. “His lizard is nice. He likes me.” 

“Literally all animals like you. My neighbor’s dog, the meanest fuckin’ creature on this good earth, liked you last summer,” Niall reminds him. “And I’ve got no idea why, y’didn’t even have any food. 

Zayn shrugs again. “Hagrid’s influence, innit. You should come down with me when Liam Payne comes to pick up his salamander so you can meet him.” 

Niall shakes his head furiously. “I wouldn’t want to annoy him, mate. You should just talk to him, because he obviously likes you, and then tell me what he says.” 

“He obviously likes me,” Zayn scoffs. “You mean he wants his lizard fixed. Also Louis Tomlinson? He’s the Seeker, right? He named this salamander Newt. How fuckin’ stupid is that.” 

“I think it’s brilliant,” Niall says. 

“You would.” 

*** 

“He was really nice, actually.” 

“Who, Hagrid? I told you there was nothing to be worried about there.” 

“What? Oh, no—the student that helped me with Newt,” Liam says. “He was a seventh year. Ravenclaw, from his robe colors. He was really nice.” 

“Why is a student fixing your lizard?” Louis asks suspiciously. 

“He’s Hagrid’s apprentice or summat. He knew what he was doing, trust me." 

“He probably had a nice arse,” Louis says bluntly, clipping a stray twig off the end of his broom with a pair of silver scissors. 

Liam frowns. “What, is it like a rule that all seventh year Ravenclaws who are good with animals have to have nice arses?” 

“No, you just have that look on your face that you get when you see a nice arse. Although,” he adds, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “it’d probably be hard to get a good look at his arse through all those robes, am I right?” 

“Louis,” Liam says sweetly. 

“Yes, dearest?” Louis asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Kindly shut the fuck up.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” 

“Seriously, shove it.” Liam frowns at the ceiling. “I didn’t look at his arse, he’s probably straight, and the only relationship we have with each other is based strictly on my salamander’s vitamin-deficit scales, which is hardly romantic. All I said was that he was nice.” 

“And that he had a nice arse.” 

“I definitely didn’t say that part.” 

“No,” Louis sing-songs, “but you never denied it, either. 

The truth is, even though he technically hasn’t seen it (because yes, the school robes aren’t terribly form fitting), Liam’s fairly sure that Zayn probably does have a nice arse, just like he has nice eyes and a nice smile and nice hands. Liam can just appreciate a good thing when he sees it, all right? And Zayn has a good _everything_ , so it’s sort of hard not to notice. But Louis certainly doesn’t have to be so insufferable about it. 

“I feel kinda bad, though,” Liam says, ignoring the other boy’s smug smile. “I mean, like, he’s just like, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He’s a student, like, he didn’t have to help him.” 

“So say thank you when he’s done.” 

“I think I’m gonna give him two of my freebies,” Liam says thoughtfully. Each team member gets a few free game tickets every season for friends and family members. “When we play the Kestrels next week.” He nods. “I think I’ll do that.” 

“Okay, Liam,” Louis says with mock-weariness. “You’d suck his salamander dick if he asked you to, we get it.” 

Liam makes a dive at him for that, and within minutes they’re rolling around on the floor in helpless laughter. 

***

“So, yeah, he’s all fixed up ‘n’ everything,” Zayn says, handing Liam Newt and grinning at him. “He did really well up at the castle—think he liked my dormitory better that I do, t’be honest.” 

“Thanks so much,” Liam says, fixating Zayn with his earnest brown gaze. 

“Any time,” Zayn says with a shrug, trying _really fucking hard_ not to blush. “Would it be really cliché to say it’s what I do?” The next second he winces, remembering that most professional Quidditch players are pure-blood, and probably wouldn’t understand the reference to Muggle television. 

“As long as you didn’t say it in that awful deep voice those guys do,” Liam says, and then grins easily at Zayn’s surprised expression. “I took two years of Muggle Studies before I left school. We did a film unit. Also—” he reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out two pieces of paper. “These are for you.” 

Zayn takes them and glances at the embossed front. “Um, thanks?” 

“They’re tickets to our game on Saturday—thought you might like to come and take a friend, maybe. I’d love to have you there. I mean, you know—as thanks for taking care of Newt.” 

“Liam, I can’t take these,” Zayn says instantly, holding them back out. “I helped you out because I love animals and Hagrid asked me to. It’s no big deal, honestly—I help people out with their pets all the time. M’a bit of a veterinary around here. Seriously, it’s fine.” 

Liam skips back two steps, out of Zayn’s arm reach, grinning. “I’d like you to have them, Zayn. Just send two of your friends if you don’t want to come, but just—consider it a tip.” 

Zayn looks at Liam’s determined expression for a moment and then sighs, tucking the tickets in the pocket of his robe. “Y’honestly didn’t have to.” 

Liam shrugs, a soft smile on his face. “I know, but, like, I wanted to.” He takes a few steps in the direction of Hogsmeade, and then stops and turns around. “So I’ll see you at the game?” 

“I’ll be cheering you on from—” Zayn checks the tickets and feels his eyes widen. “—the front row, apparently. What are your team colors?” 

“Blue and gold,” Liam says. 

“All right. Look for me in the front row—the beacon of blue and gold will be me and me mate Niall,” Zayn says, a teasing note creeping into his tone. 

”Can’t wait to see you there,” Liam replies. The grin on his face matches the one on Zayn’s own. 

*** 

“I can’t just go and sit front row at a Tornadoes match!” Niall shrieks. “I’m not—I’m not ready for that, Zayn! You can’t just spring that on me like that!” 

Zayn shrugs and pockets the tickets. “All right, I’ll find someone else—” 

"Like hell you will. Give those back.” Niall snatches the tickets out of Zayn’s robes and inspects them closely. “I literally cannot believe he gave you these. Fuckin’ unbelievable, mate. Y’know how much these are worth?” 

“Probably more than me parents’ house mortgage.” 

Niall looks at him curiously. “What’s a mortgage?” 

Zayn sighs. “Forget about it. I’m sure they’re worth a lot.” 

“Yeah, which is why I’m not worthy of these! No one is! We, a pair of grubby Hogwarts students, definitely do not deserve to sit front row at a Tornadoes match. Jesus.” 

“Well, we’re either going, or we can sit in the library on Sunday so I can do my Potions homework while you try to get Ed to play Wizard’s chess with you. Your choice.” 

For a moment, it looks like Niall might actually be considering the latter option, but then he sighs almost reluctantly. “Yeah, you’re right. Seize the day, and all that.” A sly grin crosses his features. “Liam must really like you.” 

“I think he was just excited to have his lizard back,” Zayn says firmly. “Don’t you dare make this about—” 

“I mean, he probably wouldn’t have given those to just anyone, right?” 

“I’m not just anyone. I’m the bloke who fixed his lizard for free. That’s why he gave them to me. That has, like, negative three opportunities of romantic potential.” 

Niall’s face splits into a huge grin. “Who said anything about romantic potential? Not me, mate, just you. So you were probably thinking about it—” 

“Listen, you yourself said we’re not the type of people who sit front row at a pro Quidditch match, right? So I’m definitely not the kind of person that a pro Quidditch player would be interested in. Pretty sure he has his pick of the lot—definitely wouldn’t go for the still in school bloke who spends half his free time with a dragon and doesn’t know anything about Quidditch. He gave me the tickets because he’s loaded and he can afford it. So can we drop it, please?” 

Niall whistles. “Damn, mate. Was just joking.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn mutters, “I know.” 

*** 

The day of the Kestrel match dawns bright and early without a cloud in the sky—the playing conditions outside are optimal, and Liam couldn’t be happier. With the team all rested up and good weather, there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong with this match. They beat the Kestrels last year; there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be able to do it again. 

“Hey, isn’t your boy coming today?” Louis asks with a grin in the locker rooms when they’re changing into their uniforms. 

“He’s not my boy,” Liam says instantly. “And yeah.” 

“Oooh, better do good for him, then, yeah?” 

“Shut it—” 

“Do well for who?” Harry asks, appearing at Louis’ side like he’s Apparated there, quill and parchment in hand. “D’you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?” 

“No, he has a crush, he just hasn’t admitted it yet.” 

“No, Louis’ just being obnoxious. I gave the boy who helped me out with Newt tickets to today’s game. It’s really nothing.” 

Harry wilts a little. “Louis, you got my hopes up.” 

“Keep them up, sweetcheeks, it usually takes Liam five decades to realize he’s in love with someone.” 

“I hate that you call him sweetcheeks unironically,” Liam mutters. 

Shortly after that, they march out on the pitch, shoulder to shoulder. Harry claps them each on the back as they walk by before he scampers up to the stands, and some of the team members ruffle his curls fondly—he’s become something of a good luck charm. 

The screams of the fans as they walk out are deafening—the pitch is the Kestrels’ home stadium, so there are obviously more of their supporters, but in the guest section of the stands, there’s a good number of very vocal Tornado fans. Liam grins and shoots the crowd a wave; the adrenaline rush he gets from the wave of cheers he gets in return never gets old. 

When they all kick off the pitch, Liam settles in front of the goal hoops and begins to watch the Chasers with a hawk’s eye—half the trick to blocking goals is seeing them coming. He shoots Louis a thumbs up when he flies by, eyes scanning the pitch for the Snitch, and the older boy gives him a broad grin before swooping off to the opposing end of the field to see what the other team’s Seeker is chasing. When the Quaffle seems to look like it’ll stay on the other end for a while, Liam takes the opportunity to quickly scan the crowd for Zayn, but he’s too far up and there are too many people for him to recognize anyone. 

The Tornadoes score two goals right at the beginning, and Liam does a little victory figure eight to let off steam, grinning and high fiving Sophia as the action comes back to his end of the pitch. The gossip column of the Daily Prophet will probably go crazy over that one—there have always been rumors of him and Sophia having a thing floating around in the tabloids. They’re completely unfounded, of course. Liam is a firm believer in no inter-team relationships, and so is she. All it ever leads to is trouble. 

Speaking of trouble, the Quaffle is rapidly making its way towards him—the Tornado Chasers seem to have lost control of it for now. Liam keeps his eyes on the red ball, knowing that he’ll probably have to block it in a few seconds, and sees a Kestrel Chaser seize it and then lob it towards one of the hoops. It’s a clumsy throw at best—Liam can hear the Kestrel crowd boo almost before it leaves his hand—and he flies over easily to block it, except— 

A blinding pain cracks into his skull and flings him backwards off his broom—he grapples at the smooth wooden pole for a split second before feeling himself fall helplessly down, down, down into warm, welcoming darkness. 

*** 

Zayn’s actually enjoying the game. It mainly has to do with Niall’s lively commentary, and the constantly starry-eyed expression on the other boy’s face at having front row tickets to a Tornadoes game, but he can say without a doubt that he’s paying attention to the action on the field and having a good time. 

The Tornadoes do brilliantly—two goals almost right away, which makes Niall crow his lungs out with triumph—but then the action moves to Liam’s side of the pitch, and Zayn starts paying minute attention. He watches as the ball flies from hand to hand, as Liam gets in position to block a goal, and then— 

A Bludger, seemingly out of nowhere, slams solidly into Liam’s temple and knocks him off his broom. Zayn watches, frozen, as Liam’s fingers scrabble futilely at the broomstick before plunging down towards the pitch, almost seventy feet below. The stands go deathly silent, and everyone seem petrified, watching Liam fall almost in slow motion, and then Zayn springs to his feet, barely aware of what he’s doing, knocks an old witch out of the way with his elbow, and leans over the side of the stands, pointing his wand at Liam’s still-falling form and bellowing with all his might, “ _Arresto momentum!_ ” 

There’s a moment a few seconds before Liam hits the ground that the spell seems to have had no effect, and then, just before Zayn has a heart attack where he stands, Liam’s body is gently lowered to the ground by invisible forces, his fall effectively broken. The minute he’s safely on the ground, everyone seems to break out of their horrified trance and springs to their feet. The Tornadoes fly down to surround Liam’s still form, and everyone begins screaming “foul” at the top of their lungs. Zayn, for his part, mainly just stands there, adrenaline still pumping through his body at break neck speed. 

After a few minutes, it appears that the game has been called off, and Liam is being taken to St. Mungo’s. Someone comes up to the stands and ushers Zayn and Niall down into the locker rooms without much explanation; they both just follow the person numbly, and apparate along to St. Mungo’s with the rest of the team without much protest. 

It’s not until Liam has been taken into a room for healing that they start to question why they’re really there. 

“Well, you saved his life, didn’t you?” one of the players asks Zayn, his chin tilted up belligerently. “And Harry told me that you’re also the bloke Liam gave his freebies to?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “M’Zayn? This is my mate Niall.” 

“Nice to meet you.” The man aggressively sticks his hand out for them to shake. He has a sharply angled face and bright blue eyes; Zayn figures he couldn’t be much older than him and Niall. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, Seeker. Also Liam’s best mate, but, you know, technicalities. Thanks for saving his life, by the way.” 

“Any time,” Zayn says, still a little in shock, although he’s nothing compared to Niall, who looks completely star-struck. “S’a simple charm, innit, surprised no one else thought of it. 

“Me too,” Louis says disapprovingly. “Fuckin’ useless crowd today, I suppose.” 

“So are we just supposed to wait here, or—? I really don’t know Liam at all, the tickets were just a thank you for—” 

“Fixing the lizard, yes, I know. I’m not really sure what you’re supposed to do, but you’re more than welcome to wait here with me. They’ll let the team in once he’s awake 

“Is he going to be okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course; we get patched up all the time after messing with bludgers. This was a bit more nasty than usual, of course, but he’ll be up and about in no time.” Louis shrugs. “The match went to us by default, cause they committed a serious foul, so he technically did us a favor.” 

“You lot did a great job,” Niall blurts out suddenly like he can’t hold it in any longer. 

Louis glances at him with sharp blue eyes. “I’m supposing you’re the big fan here, not this bloke?” He jerks his thumb at Zayn. 

“I’m—yeah.” Niall’s eyes are wide with admiration, but his voice is laced with caution like he thinks Louis is going to make fun of him for some reason. 

Louis’ face breaks out into a warm smile, and he slings his arm around Niall’s shoulders easily. “Well, then, let’s ditch this boring lad, eh? What do you want to know? I’m more than happy to dish up all the dirt on the rest of the team for you.” 

Before Niall can respond, a Healer walks into the room with a clipboard and her wand. 

“Mr. Tomlinson? Mr. Payne just woke up; the rest of your team is going into the room, if you’d like to join them.” 

“Of course!” Louis hurries after her as she turns to walk out of the room, pausing momentarily to say over his shoulder, “Oh, you two can come if you’d like, Liam’d probably like to see you!” 

Zayn and Niall exchange glances. “Should we go?” 

“Dunno,” Niall says. “Feels a bit weird, doesn’t it. But it feels weird not to go, too, so . . .” 

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs. “Suppose we should go, then?” 

They follow Louis and the Healer into a room where a group of blue-and-gold uniformed players are crowded around a bed. 

“Move it, arseholes, I’ve arrived,” Louis says loudly, shouldering past the Beaters and the caption. “Lemme see my Leemo.” 

“I’m okay, Louis,” Liam’s voice says from the bed. 

“I fuckin’ know that, dickhead. I’m just making sure. Oh—” he turns to Zayn and Niall. “I brought your boy, by the way.” 

“My what?” 

“Here—come here—” Louis drags Zayn over to Liam’s bedside. He actually looks quite good for someone who had been hit in the head with a Bludger before being knocked seventy feet out of the air. “This boy. He’s yours, innit.” 

“No, he’s not,” Liam frowns. “I mean, he’s my guest to the game but—anyway. Hi Zayn.”

“Hi,” says Zayn, feeling more than a bit self-conscious with all the players watching the exchange. 

“This wasn’t exactly how I thought we’d be talking again, but, you know.” Liam shrugs, smiling ruefully. “I heard you were the one who slowed down my fall.” 

“Erm—yeah.” 

“Thank you,” he says seriously. “Guess I owe you again, then?” 

“Nah,” Zayn says. “I’ll let you off for this one.” 

A shy smile crosses Liam’s face, and he opens his mouth— 

“When I said you could come visit him, I didn’t mean all two hundred of you could crowd around him!” the Healer snaps, pushing her way between Bo and Buck. “He needs room to breathe and recover. Get on with you.” 

“There’s only eight of us, but okay,” Louis, gesturing Zayn, Niall, and the team towards the door. 

Shortly after that, they have to leave to get back to Hogwarts on time, and Zayn reckons his adventure with major league Quidditch players is probably over. 

***

“You’ve got post,” Eleanor says off-handedly, tossing Zayn the Daily Prophet, which he gets every day, and a thin, cream-colored envelope. 

“Thanks, babe,” he says, patting her hair absently and opening the paper first. He loves the Ravenclaw table in the morning; everyone is quiet and distracted and wrapped up in their own minds. The Daily Prophet is open here in greater numbers than at the other tables combined, and by the time lunch comes, they’ll all be avidly debating the day’s news. 

Today’s headline screams _Liam’s Payne: Near-Fatal Falls and Secret Lovers?_ Zayn raises an eyebrow and skims through the story—it’s a sensationalized version of Saturday’s match and the journey to St. Mungo’s, but the end there’s a brief interview with Liam, which he reads with vague interest. 

Mainly it’s just a few statements to assure everyone that he’s okay, but then at the end of the interview, the “secret lovers” part crops up. 

To Zayn’s utter shock, so does an indirect mention to himself. 

_Q: Who was the person who used a charm to break your fall?_

_A: Erm—I haven’t really talked to him about giving his name to the papers, so I dunno if I can really tell you. He’s a student at Hogwarts that I invited to the match as a thank you for helping me heal my salamander who was sick. He’s—erm—well, he’s really smart, so I reckon he just had the presence of mind and the ability to cast the spell. He absolutely saved me life._

_Q: Is it true that the two of you are dating?_

_A: Oh! God, absolutely not. Like I said, we haven’t talked very much, but he’s a brilliant bloke. Just—really great. And obviously he saved my life, so like—I owe him a lot. I owe him everything. I—I’d like to get to know him better. But no, we’re not dating._

Zayn blinks down at the page for a moment, and then opens the letter.

It’s from Liam. 

_Hey, Zayn!  
So, I dunno if you’ve seen the Prophet today. There’s a bit of an interview with me in there, and you come up. I mean, of course you did—the match got quite a bit of publicity and you were obviously a big part of it. _

_I didn’t tell the press your name or anything, so don’t worry about that. I wouldn’t ever give out your information like that. But you did come up, and some questions were asked. It wasn’t anything bad—they just wanted to know if we were dating, for some reason. I guess some people thought that since you saved my life and I gave you the tickets, there’s something between us. Obviously, there’s not, and I told them that, but I just wanted to let you know that, so you could hear it from me first._

_How’s Hogwarts? I haven’t been to school in years, but I sort of miss the castle. Hope to see you sooooonnn!!_

_Liam x_

The letter is messily endearing, scrawled in dark blue and smudged a little at the beginning like Liam had a hard time getting his thoughts flowing. Zayn stares down at it for a moment, thoughts racing in a confusing, tangled-up mess of _obviously there’s nothing between us_ and _I’d like to get to know him better_ and _I owe him everything._ It’s all just—so much. Zayn’s just nerdy, animal-loving Zayn, a bookworm with only a few close friends and fairly bad dating record. He’s introverted and shy and passionate about weird things (like dragons) and somehow he’s gotten sucked into this mess with professional Quidditch players and Daily Prophet headlines. 

“Hey, Malik.” 

The sneering voice directed at him is all too familiar, but Zayn turns around anyway, one eyebrow raised coolly. 

“You wanted something, Michelson?”

“I was just wondering how you got tangled up with Liam Payne. How much did you pay him for front row tickets so you could play the hero? A couple hundred Galleons? A few blowies?” He leans closer, a filthy smirk on his face. “A good fucking in the locker r—”

“Shut it, Michelson,” Zayn says roughly. “What makes y’think it was me, anyway? Payne doesn’t give out any names in the interview.”

“Oh, I heard from someone who was at the match.” The tall Slytherin shrugs. “I dunno why a world-class Quidditch player is lowering himself to socialize with the likes of you, but trust me, he’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart.” He leans in even closer to whisper, “Mudblood,” before straightening up and walking away, a smile teasing around his lips. 

Zayn turns back around to finish eating, but his stomach is in knots after the encounter. He knows he shouldn’t let Michelson wind him up like that, but it’s just—the confusion and excitement he’d felt before has rotted away, replaced by the heavy knowledge that a few words for the papers don’t mean anything, and there’s no way that Liam would have any interest in him. Not in a million years. 

***

“Do you think he’s okay with what I said?” Liam asks Harry worriedly. “No one’s going to find out who he is after that, right?”

Harry sighs deeply. “I’ll make sure no one from the Prophet bothers your boy, Liam,” he promises. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“He’s not my boy,” Liam snaps. “I just don’t want the press going after him or anything. That’s not something a student needs, right?”

“Don’t think that’s something anyone needs,” Harry says cheerfully. “But hey, for the record, I think what you said about him was appropriately vague, grateful, and respectful. And from a PR standpoint, it’s intriguing enough to create just enough interest to carry the story a bit further and boost your profile. And the teams profile. So I think you’re good all around, actually.”

Liam takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.” He glances out the window for the fifteenth time, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s just, like, it’s been a few days; I feel like I should have gotten a reply by now. I hope he’s not offended.”

“I don’t think he’s offended,” Harry says soothingly. 

As Zayn had noticed the first day he’d gone up to Hogwarts, however, it’s in Liam’s nature to worry, and it’s not until an unfamiliar Southern White-Faced Owl flies through his window two days later that he lets himself relax about it. 

“What’s it say?” Louis asks boredly, but Liam’s already ripping open the envelope—it’s made of smooth, silvery parchment that smells like cedar wood and smoke—and reading the letter within. 

The first thing he notices, before he can even process any of the words, is that for someone he knows is an artist, Zayn’s handwriting is quite bad—a loopy scrawl that has its own kind of messy elegance but completely lacks proper form. Not that Liam’s one to talk, mind you; he’s been known to have to rewrite entire letters in order for clearer legibility. 

_Hi Liam!_ The letter reads, 

_Nice to hear from you! Hope you’re still okay after the match? I haven’t really heard anything in the papers about whether you can fly again or whether you’re taking it easy for a while. I hope you’re resting up for now! You definitely deserve it._

_I don’t really mind about the stuff in the press. I’m sure it’ll die down after a while. Just please don’t give my name out, I suppose. It’d be sort of odd to have people asking me about it at Hogwarts. I dunno how you players deal with that all the time. I nearly had a heart attack when I read the Prophet and realized you were talking about me! Anyway, I hope they’re not giving you too hard of a time about it. I know the press can be tough._

_My mate Niall (do you remember him from the match?) says hi! I’d love to see you again soon!_

_Zayn x_

Liam grins down at the letter for a moment, savoring the sound of _I’d love to see you again_ in his mind before looking up at Louis. “Yeah, so he’s cool with it.”

“Really,” Louis says, unimpressed. “Is that why you’re grinning like a fool, Payno? Because he’s _cool_ with it?”

“I’m not grinning like a fool,” Liam says, hurriedly schooling his expression into one of sobriety. 

“My arse,” the other boy replies, rolling his eyes. “I guess it’s good he’s not being a diva about it, then, yeah? So the two of you are done being pen pals?”

“I dunno. Maybe I’ll write back to be polite, you never know.”

His faux-nonchalant tone doesn’t fool Louis, however, because the smaller boy just rolls his eyes again and flops back down on the bed. “You’re an idiot, Payno.”

He sighs. “Right back at you, Louis.”

***

Defense Against the Dark Arts has always been one of Zayn’s favorite classes. He knows that it’s generally the realm of Gryffindors, because they’ve got the whole bravery thing going on—naturally, they must feel the urge fight the Dark Side to prove themselves, or something—but he’s used the class to prove to many a skeptical student that Ravenclaws are made of more than just big books and quirky study habits. In fact, the only person he’s been unable to beat in a duel has been Niall; it was actually how they became friends in second year, when a particularly dangerously-inclined teacher had decided that twelve was the perfect age to pit students against each other using real curses. They’d been the final two that had survived all the matches, and when they’d discovered that they were too perfectly matched in this regard to make any progress against each other, they’d realized they were a more formidable force together than apart, and promptly become fast friends. 

Unfortunately, this year the Ravenclaws have Defense with the Slytherins, not the Hufflepuffs, which is actually pretty good—they’re a chill lot, usually, and they’ve got the most quality weed he’s ever smoked (almost every single Slytherin he’s met or befriended absolutely does not live up to the house’s bad reputation), but it also means that Michelson is in his class, which is hardly a treat. He’s still resentful over the Slytherin boy’s suggestions about the nature of his relationship with Liam, but it goes deeper than that. For some inexplicable reason, Michelson has always hated him, for no other discernable motive than his blood status. It’s annoying at best and frightening at worst, because despite the improvements that had been made to institutionalized blood prejudice after the Second Wizarding War, Zayn knows that Muggleborns are still found dead and injured after pureblooded attacks. 

He’d never let Michelson see his fear, however, which is why he doesn’t even flinch when he and the Slytherin boy are paired up as dueling partners. Eleanor pats his back sympathetically, while a Slytherin friend of his, Areeb, whispers, “If you jinx him into a flobberworm I’ll buy you a butterbeer next Hogsmeade trip.”

“I’ll do my best,” Zayn mutters back grimly before stepping up to stand opposite Michelson. 

“Malik, Michelson, I want you to be our example pair today,” Professor Hillikin says, gesturing to them with his wand. “We’ll be demonstrating shield charms against complex jinxes and curses today, so please switch off on who attacks and who uses a defense.”

“I’ll attack first,” Michelson says immediately. 

Hillikin nods. “Very well. Let’s see what you’re made of, boys.”

They both step back a little, drawing their wands out of their robes. Zayn raises his wand, bringing the incantation for his strongest shield charm to mind, and then tensing in preparation for the attack. He doesn’t know which curse Michelson is going to use, but knowing the other boy, it’ll be something painful and powerful—he’ll have to be fast. 

There’s a moment of breathless silence as they circle each other like wolves, their footsteps loud in the quiet classroom, and then Michelson strikes, his wand whipping out like a snake, sending a jet of bright purple light streaking towards Zayn’s face. At the last second, Zayn flicks up a strong silver force field around himself, watching with satisfaction as the curse glances off of it and is absorbed into the floor. Michelson’s face twists a bit in humiliation at the weakness of his spell, and he looks down sullenly, his wand twitching. 

“Very good, Malik! Ten points to Ravenclaw for a finely executed level five shield charm. Now, if you please, you do the attacking, and Mr. Michelson will defend.”

Again, there’s the tense silence as Michelson raises his wand and waits for Zayn to strike, their eyes connecting briefly as they edge around each other. Zayn’s wand is loose in his hand, his arm relaxed and unthreatening before—

He throws out a jet of hard blue light that catches Michelson by surprise and effectively shatters his shield the moment he throws it up. The curse knocks the Slytherin boy to the ground before wrapping around him and flinging him up against the wall, pinning him for a few seconds and then letting him drop a few feet onto the stone floor again. 

“Excellent use of the Praecipitarius curse, Malik,” Hillikin says approvingly. “Michelson, get your defense up sooner next time. A few seconds can cost you your life.”

They switch up pairs after that and spend the rest of the class practicing their shield charms. Zayn practices with Areeb, who nearly blasts through his shield several times but can’t seem to hold one of his own. They end up in a competition trying to see who can simply hold the charm the longest—surprisingly, Zayn wins, even though Areeb is known for his charm stamina, but only because the other boy startles suddenly and drops his wand. 

“S’matter?” Zayn asks curiously. “You’re usually more focused.”

Areeb’s eyes dart to the corner of the classroom and then flick back to Zayn. “Michelson,” he mutters. “Bloke’s givin’ you a look like he wants to send an Avada Kedavra right through your skull, mate.”

Zayn quickly glances over to where Michelson is practicing with an uncomfortable looking Eleanor. The blond boy is indeed giving him a nasty glare—Zayn can almost feel the heat of it across the room. 

“Well, I did show him up a bit today, didn’t I,” he says lightly, reanimating his shield charm. “Suppose he’s a bit angry about that.”

“I’d just be careful, mate, that’s all. I know for a fact that he’s jinxed a few people he’s had beef with into a jelly.”

“I blocked him once, I can do it again,” Zayn says. “Wanna try and break this shield?”

“You’re not bloody invincible,” Areeb mutters, but lifts his wand anyway.

By the end of the hour, it’s clear that while Zayn may not be invincible, his shield charm pretty much is.

He has nothing to fear. 

***

_Hey Liam!_

_I heard you did really well in your match against Pride of Portree! Congratulations on that—I don’t know much about Quidditch, but my mate Niall was in stitches over some of the moves you did, so it must have been pretty good. I’m proud! Stay safe, though—I’m not in the audience to save your arse this time, Payno._

_Christmas break is in a month and a half—I can’t wait. I don’t go home, usually, because my family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and they’re usually visiting my dad’s family in Pakistan at this time of the year, but I don/t mind staying at Hogwarts because Niall stays too! His family’s in Ireland, so he doesn’t go home every year—too far, I guess. There are a few other people who stay at Hogwarts, too, and I know most of them, so it’s a good time. I have a friend called Areeb who’s in Slytherin who stays; he and Niall have been trying to teach me to play Quidditch for years over the break. Still haven’t succeeded, though. I’m hopeless at Quidditch._

_Another good thing about break is that it lets me spend a lot of time around the animals on the grounds. I reckon you already know that I love magical animals—there are so many fascinating ones around the grounds. I’ve been trying to learn Mermish lately so I can talk with the mermaids in the Great Lake. Hagrid’s got a dragon that I need to be spending more time with as well—I’ve been so busy, I reckon he’s feeling neglected. I’ll have to find some time to fly with him over the break, which is gonna be a pain in the arse, just because he hates the cold as much as I do. Snow and fire don’t really mix well, apparently._

_Do you have any plans for the break? I’m guessing you’ll have some parties to go to—isn’t that what you do when you’re famous? And family to visit as well, of course. Hoping to find anything in particular under the Christmas tree?_

_I’m the coolest bloke at the Ravenclaw table because I get regular letters from a famous Quidditch player—write back soon so you don’t let the masses of Hogwarts down. I may quite like hearing from you as well; it reassures me that you haven’t cracked your head open on a Bludger again. Stay safe and keep winning your matches!_

_Zayn x_

Liam puts down the letter slowly, trying not to let the smile that’s spreading across his lips split his face in half. Zayn and he have exchanged quite a few letters by now, but the other boy never fails to amaze him every time he writes. Trying to speak Mermish? Flying with a _dragon_? Liam may be a world class Quidditch player, but Zayn’s far more fascinating than he could ever hope to be. And every single letter from the Ravenclaw boy has held a kind of warmth to its tone like Zayn’s genuinely interested in what Liam has to say and what’s been happening to him lately. Louis gives him a hard time about it, but Liam knows that he likes Zayn. 

“I mean, your soppy heart eyes are sort of annoying to see when you read his letters, but the bloke did save your life,” Louis say with a shrug when Liam confronts him about it. “And he was cool when I talked to him. And he had a cool friend that likes our team.” 

“I don’t have heart eyes,” Liam says belligerently. 

“You really, really do.” 

If he’s annoying about Zayn—which he so totally isn’t, because Zayn is a nice bloke who’s fun to write to and nothing more—than Louis and Harry are completely intolerable. The two of them have been thicker than thieves lately, which is saying something because they’re always attached at the hip. 

“It’s my job to hang out with you guys and sell your secrets to the press,” Harry deadpans. “I literally have to be here all the time.” 

“Something’s up with you and Louis,” Liam insists, but they just exchange a loaded glance and then chorus, “No, there isn’t,” in perfect unison. 

Completely sickening. 

He writes back to Zayn that night, when Harry and Louis aren’t there to take the piss out of him: 

_Hey, Zayn!_

_It sounds like you’re keeping busy at school! Things are hectic here as usual—we’re playing the Wimbourne Wasps next week, so keep your fingers crossed, yeah?_

_Do you really have a dragon at Hogwarts? I thought it was just a rumor that Hagrid keeps one in the forest. And do you really fly with it? How does that work? Do you ride it, or fly along on a broom? Is it dangerous, or what? Sorry if that’s a lot of questions, I’m just really surprised at the fact that you’re just casually talking about dragons being an everyday part of your life, like Newt is a part of mine!_

_I think Newt misses you, by the way. Or maybe he just misses not having to move around all the time, who knows. He hasn’t gotten sick again, fortunately. Louis keep trying to get me to put him in my pocket for one of the matches—he thinks Newt is good luck, or something. Is that safe for me to do? Or should I not be taking him into the air when he could very easily fall out of my robes? I feel like it’s the second one . . ._

_I don’t really have any plans for Christmas. We play the Montrose Magpies the day before your break starts, and then we have a few weeks off. I was going to use that time to go visit me mum and dad in Wolverhampton (that’s where I’m from) but then I ended up buying them a trip to France for their present, so I think they’ll be gone. I suppose I might go back to Wolverhampton anyway and chill there for a few days? No concrete plans, really._

_Christmas at Hogwarts sounds fun! I always went home for the holidays, so I never got to experience it. I hear the house elves put on a fantastic feast! I can imagine it’s amazing._

_I’m not really hoping to get anything this Christmas—my parents will be in France, and my older sisters both work out of the country, so I may not be getting anything and then just spend Christmas alone. It’s okay, though. It might be nice to spend some time alone, sleep in, not do any conditioning, and just relax._

_I'll keep writing as long as you write back! We can’t have your reputation at the Ravenclaw table destroyed, can we?_

_Liam_

It’s easier to write to Zayn than it is to write to his own sisters or childhood friends in Wolverhampton, sometimes. There’s something friendly and enticing about the parchment Zayn’s letters are written on, smooth and silvery and spicy-smelling, something reassuring and warm about the memory of his sharp golden gaze and bright sudden smile. Liam doesn’t worry about messing up when he’s writing to Zayn, and it’s liberating—he can’t remember the last time he let himself not worry about something. 

The main problem with their blooming friendship is the marked lack of physical contact they've had with each other—Liam hasn’t seen Zayn in person since he’d woken up at St. Mungo’s, something that’s beginning to bother him immensely. It’s not so much that he feels like their friendship is somehow worsened by only communicating in letters, it’s just that he wishes they could communicate faster. It takes days for each letter to arrive, meaning they can only exchange a few letters a week, if they’re lucky. Liam’s beginning to both fear and desire a real conversation with Zayn—on the one hand, he feels as though they’d hit it off immediately because they already know so much about each other now, but then again, it could be awkward once they had to speak face-to-face. 

After a moment, he adds a quick post script: 

_P.S. Maybe we can meet up over the break? Tell me your Hogsmeade weekends, and I’ll come up for one of them! We can go to Honeyduke’s together properly this time ;)_

*** 

“I’ll just be a minute, yeah?” Zayn says, knocking on the door of the Ravenclaw common room and turning back to check if Niall’s still standing there as the bronze eagle opens its mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah, take your time, there’s no big rush, mate,” Niall says easily. 

“What is greater than God, and more evil than the devil?” the eagle door knocker asks in a melodious voice. “The poor have it, the rich need it, and if you eat it, you’ll die? 

Zayn thinks for a moment, frowning a little, and then it strikes him. “Nothing,” he says, and the door begins to swing open. 

“Well riddled,” the knocker says, and Niall shakes his head in amazement. 

“Dunno how you lot do that. I would go crazy if I had to solve a riddle every time I wanted to get into my common room. What do you do when you’re coming back from a party in another house and you’re a bit drunk and tired? Don’t think you could solve a riddle then.” 

“Usually we have an appointed lower year student let us in,” Zayn says. “The riddle takes too long when you’re hung over, to be honest.” 

He steps in the tower and swings the door shut behind him. He just has to grab his gloves, and then they can go down to Hagrid’s and have a cuppa. On his way up the stairs from the common room to the dormitories, however, one of the third year boys, Emerson, grabs his arms. 

“Malik,” he says, his brows stitched together in worry. “I was just in your dormitory looking for James, and it’s—” he frowns and lets Zayn go. “Well, go look for yourself, I reckon. It’s not pretty. Someone—well, just go.” 

Worry starting to pool in his stomach, Zayn hurries over to the door that leads to his dormitory. He’s not quite sure what Emerson means, but-- 

Well. It certainly isn’t pretty. 

His things are scattered all over the room—pages and pages of homework and drawings were ripped, crumpled, and scribbled on before being strewn all about the beds in a mountain of purposeful chaos. The curtains have been ripped off his bed, there are slashes in his mattress, and his clothing has been thrown out of his drawers and scattered about. Most horrifyingly of all, however, is the single, red, dripping word painted on the wall opposite his bed: _Mudblood._

For a moment, Zayn just stares at the mess numbly, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of the wand. There’s no doubt who did this, and absolutely no way to prove it. 

Slowly, he walks towards his bed and begins to sift through the chaos there—his shoes have been stuffed into the slashes through the mattress, and a bottle of black ink has been poured out over his pillow. The latest letter from Liam, which he had tucked into his Ancient Runes textbook to use as a bookmark, has been taken out and obviously scanned over. When he picks it up, his stomach turns and his hands go cold. 

Someone—ha, _someone:_ it’s Michelson, he knows it is—has scribbled out his name where it says “Hey Zayn” and instead written in “Hey Mudblood whore.” At the bottom, where Liam’s signed his name, the person has rewritten it as “too good for you” in red ink. His insides churn unpleasantly, and he stares at it for a long time, his blood frozen and his knuckles white. 

He’s been the victim of considerable hate for many reasons in many different societies—in the Muggle world, his parents are an interracial couple, and he’s Muslim (both reasons to hate him for many people, as he learned at a young age). In the wizarding world, he’s Muggleborn, meaning that he has to deal with idiots like Michelson who still believe in the purity of blood despite all the research that has been done that shows it really doesn’t fucking matter. And in both worlds, his attraction to men is disapproved by by many people. He just can’t win. But no amount of prejudice that he’s faced has ever made him sick like the purposeful, terrorizing, anger-filled hatred of the mess in front of him. Someone did this to specifically frighten and demean him. 

> He slowly walks out of the dormitory and back out into the hallway to where Niall’s standing and chatting with one of the nearby portraits. 

“Mate, what took you—whoa,” he says as he spots the look on Zayn’s face. “What’s the matter, bro?” 

“Come into the tower and look at this,” Zayn says numbly, anger and fear and helplessness coursing through his veins like fire. 

“Okay . . .” Niall follows him into the Ravenclaw tower, frowning a little as he trails after him. “Everything looks okay in here—oh.” His bright blue eyes flicker over the destruction in the room. “The fuck happened here?” 

“Michelson, probably,” Zayn says grimly, guiding Niall over to the wall that says _mudblood._ “I showed him up in DADA two days ago, and I guess this is his payback or something.” 

Niall’s mouth is pinched downwards at the corners, and his eyes are still scanning the room worriedly. “Want help cleaning up?” 

“That’d be great, thanks.” 

They stand back to back and raise their wands in unison; the clothes, books, papers, and quills fly into the air gracefully, straighten themselves out, and then neatly organize themselves to their proper places. Zayn catches Liam’s letter as it flies by him, unfolds it, and hands it to Niall silently. 

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Niall vows after a moment. “I swear on me last pint from Rosmerta that I’ll kill him with me bare hands. No fuckin’ wands necessary here.” 

“I don’t really want you to kill him,” Zayn says. “And I’d rather you not tell anyone.” 

“You have to tell someone,” Niall says incredulously. “You have to report this, Zayn.” 

“No.” 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“Because—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “Two reasons. One, that would be letting him win. Two, I fully plan to deal with him on my own, and I don’t want the professors involved in my personal life.” 

“No offense, Zayn, but those are bullshit reasons. You can’t let something like letting him “win” stop you from reporting it. And who gives a shit if the professors are involved? Maybe we can get him kicked out or something. I mean, these are basically threats. He broke into a fucking house tower, so that’s breaking and entering; he did all this, which is vandalism, and—” 

“That’s great, except that I can’t prove jack shit,” Zayn snaps. “There’s no way to tell it was him, okay? So I’ll just lay low for now and then report it if it happens again.” 

Niall sighs and shakes his head. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, mate.” 

“Just trust me on this, okay? I don’t want this to get too confrontational.” 

“I’d say it’s already pretty confrontational, Zayn. M’tellin’ you, just report it.” 

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, flicking his wand to siphon the painted slur off the wall. “It’s fine, and no one has to know.” 

Niall sighs deeply and shakes his head. “You’re going to get yourself in deep shit if you’re not careful, mate.” 

“I am careful.” 

“Just—” Niall shakes his head again. “Just promise me you won’t go picking fights. This could get so much bigger than just you and Michelson.” 

Zayn's pretty sure it already is 

*** 

_Hi Liam!_

_You should come visit us for the holidays, if you want to! There are so few people who stay here over Christmas, I’m sure no one would mind having you here for a week or so. You could bring Louis, too, if he doesn’t have any plans. I’d like to get to know him better; he always sounds so funny and interesting when you write about him. Harry, too! And you could meet Niall and my other mates properly. Think about it, okay? But no pressure if you don’t want to._

_Good luck against the Wimbourne Wasps! I know you’re going to do brilliantly. Niall is already spouting statistics about your team and the Wasps, and the ones that I understand make it seem like you’re going to win. But I don’t need statistics to tell me that!_

> _I’ve got to cut this short because I’ve got to run to Potions. We’ve got a free day, which means that I’ll be able to make whatever potion I want. I think I’m going to try and make Amortentia. Not because I want to make anyone fall in love with me—I actually think love potions are sort of immoral and date rape-ish—but just because I want to know what it smells like to me. Have you ever smelled it? It’s supposed to be amazing. Wish me luck!_

_Zayn x_

*** 

_Hey Zayn!_

_I’ve never smelled Amortentia, but once someone tried to send me candy that was filled with it. Harry intercepted it before I could eat them, though. That’s one of the downsides of being famous, I guess. There are some really psychotic fans! Once Louis was jinxed into having cat ears for two days because some girl who had a really big crush on him read a fanfic where he was wearing cat ears for, uh, inappropriate reasons. Anyways, she thought he’d look cute with them in real life, and so she decided to take matters into her own hands. So yeah. The fans are pretty crazy. Hope your potion making went well, though!_

_I’d love to come to Hogwarts, if it’s still okay with you? Harry and Louis could come too. I dunno where we’d sleep, and stuff, because I think only house members can sleep in the dormitories, but I guess we could work that out somehow. Hogwarts sounds fantastic during the holidays, though! Maybe you could show me some of the animals you’ve talked about in your letters. I’m particularly interested in this dragon . . . only if it’s safe, though! Not all of us are dragon wranglers, Malik._

_Write back and tell me whether I still visit you! It’d be great to see you in person again._

_Liam_

*** 

i > “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Horan!” 

“Sorry, Ed.” 

“I was about to ask her to Hogsmeade, but you and your—oh, hi, Zayn.” 

“Hey,” Zayn says drily, reaching out to ruffle Niall’s hair. “What did this idiot do now?” 

“He and his pussy-magnet blue eyes came and stole my girl—” 

“Unintentionally, though,” Niall says. “Did not mean to.” 

“Whatever. He _unintentionally_ lured the girl I was chattin’ up away from me and then she waltzed off all starry-eyed that she’d talked to Niall Horan before I could try again. And she was a Ravenclaw. I’ve been trying to get a smart girl talk to me years. They usually run away from me.” 

“Ah, he’s too good-looking for his own good, innit,” Zayn says, shoving Niall lightly. “Don’t you have blue eyes, too, Ed?” 

“They’re green,” Ed grumbles. 

“Right, sorry, all white people look the same to me,” Zayn deadpans, coaxing a laugh out of the disgruntled Hufflepuff. “I’ll go find her and put in a good word for you, if you want, since m’a Ravenclaw, yeah?” 

“Please don’t,” Ed says, “or she’ll be falling for your cheekbones and eyelashes next. Honestly, what is it with you two? Did you just decide to be best friends because you wanted to make a Hogwarts’ most attractive men club?” 

“Hardly,” Niall says. “I got tight with him because all the girls would fall for him, and then I could catch them when they realized he’s more into blokes.” 

“Right, forgot about that.” Ed gives Zayn a sharp look. “Speaking of that, I heard that you and Liam Payne from the Tornadoes—” 

i> “—are great friends,” Zayn says firmly. “On the topic of Liam, Niall, I’ve got to talk to you about something.” 

> “Sure,” Niall says. “I’ll see you back in the common room, Ed. Sorry about that, again.” 

“Yeah, yeah, just get on with you,” Ed grouches, still mock-offended. 

“Okay, so what’s up?” Niall asks when they’re out of earshot. 

“I may have invited Liam, Louis, and Harry to stay with us here over the break.” 

Niall’s jaw drops. 

“And I’m going to ask McGonagall about it today, but I was just thinking, like if you’d be okay with it? Because you’d be spending a lot of time around them, because they won’t know anyone here but me, so—” 

“Would I be _okay_ with it?” Niall asks breathlessly. “Would I be okay with spending break with two members from me favorite team and one of their best mates? Yeah, I suppose that would be pretty fuckin’ all right, Zayn.” 

> “Listen, I was just checking—” 

“Next time you invite a few celebrities to come chill with us over break, don’t bother to check with me first, I promise I’ll be fine with it. Jesus.” 

“Do you think it’s a good idea, though? Like, d’you think they’ll be bored or whatever?” 

Niall considers this—it’s one of the things Zayn loves about him; he’ll always take time to think about someone else’s fears rather than immediately dismissing them. “I dunno. From what you’ve told me, and what I’ve read, both in the press and from the letters you’ve shown me, he seems like he’d love to spend time with you, even if you weren’t doing too much. And Hogwarts is a fuckin’ giant place anyway, innit. If you need to entertain him somehow, you could just give him a tour. Or the Room of Requirement could come up with something for you lot to do.” 

“And you’d help me, right? I’ll need someone with Quidditch knowledge with me at all times.” 

Right. So this is happening, then—with McGonagall’s blessing, of course—and Zayn is actually going to meet Liam in person properly. 

He can’t decide if he’s excited or nervous. 

*** 

Once the details of the trip are worked out, the weeks until Christmas break drag on unbearably. There are days of exhausting conditioning for the match against the Wasps, and the papers keep bothering Liam about what they think is his relationship with Sophia, and Harry and Louis have been locked up together in Louis’ room for days, so Liam doesn’t have anyone to talk to. It feels like the longest few weeks of his life, and the only bright spots are the letters he gets from his family who are in Paris, and, of course, the letters from Zayn. 

He learns that Amorentia smells like clean soap, green apples, and hot cocoa to Zayn, which makes him curious about what it’d smell like to him; he finds out that Zayn is actually at the top of his class but never made the status of prefect— _mostly due to Niall getting me into trouble,_ Zayn writes, and Liam can just imagine his wry smile, _but it’s fine; I wouldn’t want to be a prefect anyway. I don’t do well with responsibility._ Apparently he’s starting to make progress in his quest to learn Mermish: _yesterday I said hello in Mermish to one of the mermaids I saw, and she sort of looked at me funny, so I think that might be positive._ And, of course, he writes about Niall a lot. Liam would think that they were dating if Zayn didn’t talk about Niall being popular among the ladies of Hogwarts so often. 

He hasn’t been inside Hogwarts for years, and he’d been a Gryffindor anyway—with very few inter-house friends as well—so he’s never actually seen the Ravenclaw tower. Zayn’s painted a great mental picture of it in his letters, though—it sounds gorgeous, and he hopes he’ll be able to see it in person. It doesn’t sound like people really care if house members visit different common rooms, so maybe they’ll let him in too. Apparently the Gryffindors are hosting a holiday party for the people who stay over the break, so he’ll be able to revisit his old common room as well. 

_The Gryffindor parties are the wildest, probably, Zayn writes, although the Slytherins have the best drugs at theirs. I’ve smoked the best weed of my life with Areeb at a Slytherin party—maybe they’ll have a party while you’re here, too. The Hufflepuffs never really have many parties, but they always bring food to everyone else’s because they’re by the kitchens. And us Ravenclaws will have an occasional party, but usually we’re just responsible for bringing music and helping with decorations—we’re sort of known for being good at cool spells, so we can usually come up with something brilliant. At the last Slytherin party we enchanted the snake decorations in their common room to move, which looked pretty weird once everyone was high. And at the last Gryffindor one, we floated balls of fire around on the ceiling. So yeah. You’ll be able to witness a proper Hogwarts party!_

Liam doesn’t remember anything about house parties from when he was at Hogwarts, but he supposes that he was really too young to participate. He didn’t have many friends while he was there, though, so maybe he was just never invited. 

The Wimbourne Wasp match finally creeps up on him—Louis seems to think that the time has flown, but for Liam it feels like he’s been living the same day over again for three weeks. He’s just really excited to see Zayn again, okay? The boy is smart and funny and really fucking beautiful; anyone would be happy about spending time with him. He just hopes that Zayn is just as excited to see him. 

*** 

“Is this it?” Harry asks, staring up at the huge gates of the castle, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. 

“No, Harry,” Louis says. “This is actually the _wrong_ huge forbidding stone castle that we’ve stumbled across. Hogwarts is another enormous fucking castle that’s two mountains away, sorry to disappoint.” 

“Christ, sorry,” Harry says. “You know I’ve never actually been here, so—” 

Harry was homeschooled by his mother before taking his internship at the Daily Prophet, so he’s never seen Hogwarts. Although there’s not much to see today—the outline of the castle against the sky has been softened by the mounds of snow piled on the roof and clinging to the walls. As they watch, the gates slowly swing open and shower them with the snow that's gathered on them. 

“Well, what are you standing there for?” a voice calls, and then Zayn’s slight figure emerges out of the darkness. Liam catches the glint of a smile in the light from their wands; he helplessly raises his arm to see more of Zayn’s face—crinkled eyes and sharp cheekbones that cast shadows even in the dim light. 

“Get on in here, s’freezing,” Zayn says. “Niall’s waiting inside and he has butterbeer.” 

“You’ve sold me,” Louis says, hurrying forward to pass through the gates and clap Zayn on the back. “Good to see you again, mate.” 

“Same here,” Zayn says. “Hurry up you two, I don’t know the anti-frostbite charm yet and I think I can feel me feet goin’ numb.” 

“All right, we’re coming,” Harry says, following Louis through the gates. “C’mon, Liam.” 

Liam walks over to Zayn slowly, trying not to slip in the snow and make a fool of himself. “Hi,” he says, and, because he’s a fucking idiot, no more words come out. That seems to be a common symptom of his around Zayn. 

“Hey,” Zayn says, giving him a slightly concerned look. “You all right?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says quickly, “just cold, I think. Let’s get inside—that butterbeer sounds amazing.” 

“If Niall hasn’t drank all of it by now,” Zayn mutters. “But yeah, let’s go, I reckon you lot are freezing.” 

The three of them follow Zayn into the castle—they make a sharp left away from the Great Hall, which Liam only catches a glimpse of (familiar floating candles and a high arched ceiling swirling with tonight’s stars and clouds) before they go up two flights of stairs that make Liam dizzy with their steepness. 

“What, aren’t you lot supposed to be really fit Quidditch players?” Zayn says teasingly when he sees them panting after mounting the steps. “Surely you’re not tired after a few stairs.” 

“Shut it, Malik, you haven’t lived through the conditioning we have,” Louis grumbles, swatting Zayn’s arm tiredly. “Just take us to the butterbeer before I murder and eat you.” 

“Right away, Your Highness.” 

They take two more turns and then end up in front of a tall blue door equipped with a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. Zayn raps on the door twice and then steps back, listening for—well, something—with a slightly cocked head. After a moment, the eagle opens his metal beak and says in a soft, sweet voice, “Who is he that runs without a leg, and his house on his back?” 

Liam gapes first at the eagle, and then at Zayn who says, “Fuck, that one’s easy. A snail.” 

“Nicely solved,” the eagle says, and the door swings open. 

“There’s no password?” Louis asks, frowning. 

“No, just the riddle. It’s supposed to be, like, a learning experience, but most of them are pretty easy so I don’t really end up learning much. It’s started to try and test me, but—” Zayn breaks off and shrugs, as if to imply that the wit of the common room’s guardian is no match for his. “Oh, here’s Niall. You’ve met him, right?” 

“Only briefly,” Liam says, holding out his hand to Niall, who shakes it reverently. Zayn watches the scene with amused golden eyes. “I wasn’t in the best shape back the last time we talked, but Zayn’s talked about you quite a bit. I hear you’re a fan?” 

“A bit, yeah,” Niall says, which Liam knows is an understatement. “You were brilliant against the Wasps last week.” 

“Yeah, it was a close match, but—”

“—that last save of yours really won you lot the game,” Niall interrupts. “Absolutely fuckin’ brilliant, mate.” 

“Erm—” Liam can feel a hot blush creeping up his cheeks, and he rubs a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “Thanks, mate. Means a lot. Erm, how’d you get up here, anyway? I thought you were a Hufflepuff.” 

“Yeah, I am,” Niall says, taking a swig of butterbeer and offering bottles around the room. “Zayn let me in before he went down to let you in; everyone here doesn’t really give a shit about me chilling here. They’re used to it—Zayn and I camp out in each other’s common rooms all the time.” 

“That door knocker thing is wicked, yeah,” Louis says suddenly. “Can you solve those?” 

Niall barks out a laugh. “Nah, mate, that’s all on Zayn—that’s why he needs to let me in. Those riddles are fuckin’ impossible.” 

Niall’s brash charm soon puts everyone at ease, and before long even Liam has let go of his nervousness and is sitting around the fireplace with everyone else, swigging butterbeer and laughing freely. 

Zayn is stunning in the light of the first, relaxed and sleepy-eyed in the soft glow that reflects in his eyes and casts sharp shadows down from his eyelashes. Liam tries not to stare—he feels it would be rude, even though he’s sure that Zayn is used to having people look at him with the awe he knows is showing on his own face—but only succeeds marginally, because sometimes Zayn’s gaze will flick up to meet his and their eyes will connect for a second before skittering away from each other awkwardly, nervous smiles on their lips. It feels like they’re on the very verge of flirting, even though they haven’t even spoken alone yet, even though Liam has no idea whether Zayn’s even into boys. 

Fortunately, Niall provides an ample distraction—he’s in the middle of a lively story about accidently tempting his friend’s crush away from him. 

“So I was like, mate, I’m sorry—cause I really didn’t mean to, y’know?—but she wouldn’t go back to him after that.” He shakes his head mournfully. “Tragic stuff, man.” 

“You won’t get any girls around here with Niall around, sorry,” Zayn says playfully. “Even being world-famous Quidditch players. He’s too charming for his own good.” 

Louis snorts. “I don’t think any of us are interested in the girls around here, mate. Niall’s won’t get any competition here.” 

“Oh, so you like blokes then?” Niall considers this. “All three of you? Jesus, are the only friends I ever make gay? No wonder I get all the girls—there aren’t any other options for them.” 

“Yeah, all three of us,” Harry says with slow amusement. 

Niall shrugs. “Well, you’re out of luck with that too, I’m afraid. Zayn’s got a monopoly on the lads around here, boys.” 

“Well, how could we compete with that?” Louis says teasingly. “He’s right fit.” 

Niall nods solemnly. “Those cheekbones do it. He doesn’t have an arse, though, so you might have a solid run with yours, mate.” 

“Niall!” Zayn yelps. 

“Are you sure you aren’t gay?” Louis says, squinting at Niall. “I’m not usually into blonds, but anyone who admires my arse is welcome to it.” 

“Mate, I’m not even naturally blond, we’re all good.” 

Louis grins. “Well, then sign me the fuck up.” 

Both Zayn and Harry shriek in protest, and Niall and Louis cackle, slapping palms in a triumphant high five. 

“I like these two,” Louis proclaims. “We can keep them, Payno.” 

Zayn groans and tucks his face into the crook of Liam’s neck. “Leeyum, make them stop.” 

__“You promised you wouldn’t be embarrassing,” Liam says, and Louis laughs even louder._ _

__“You know me well enough to know that I was lying. It’s my privilege and responsibility to embarrass you in front of every cute boy we encounter, and since I count two very cute boys right now, I have to embarrass you doubly.”_ _

__“I think I hate you,” Liam says, and feels Zayn smile against his neck._ _

__It’s comfortable, sitting here in front of the fire surrounded by these four boys who are starting feel weirdly like home. He could get used to this._ _

__***_ _

__Liam is more beautiful then Zayn had remembered—for a moment, he’d been unable to breathe when he’d seen him in the snowy light outside of Hogwarts; soft brown eyes and a sheepish smile like he’d been nervous about seeing Zayn—and it’s starting to get a little painful, sitting next to him without being able to touch him. He finally gives, leans over to hide in the broadness of the other boy’s shoulder when Niall and Louis are being ridiculous, because he figures that’s a good enough excuse._ _

__He’s so weak when it comes to Liam, he’s found._ _

It’s nice to know that Liam likes boys, but—it really doesn’t make that much of a difference, he tells himself. Liam’s famous and kind and humble and impossibly attractive; he has the whole world to choose from, and he definitely won’t be choosing his somewhat socially inept pen pal who’s a zoology geek and still in school. Still, there’s a voice that whispers _well, he chose to spend his break with you, didn’t you? He probably had tons of people asking him to stay with them_. He tries to ignore it, just like he ignores the voice that spits _Mudblood whore_ and _too good for you_ at him. He doesn’t need any thoughts like that. He and Liam are friends, and they’ll stay that way. 

__“So where are we staying?” Harry asks when the clock hits midnight and they’re all starting to yawn a bit._ _

__“Erm, well—both of our dormitories are empty, so I s’ppose you can pick wherever you want to sleep.”_ _

__“I vote we sleep here,” Louis says instantly. “Sorry, Niall, I just remember the Hufflepuff common room being all the way across the castle, and I’m tired as shit.”_ _

__“Fair enough,” Niall says. “It is quite a ways, so I think I’m gonna crash here too.”_ _

__“Are you allowed to do that?” Liam asks._ _

__“Sure,” Niall says with a shrug. “Zayn ‘n’ I have had some great times in each other’s dormitories.” When he’s met with a skeptically raised eyebrow from Louis, he hastens to add, “Not like that, you freak.”_ _

__“You two have got to have tried something as least once,” Louis says._ _

__Zayn and Niall exchange glances. “Well—” Niall says, a grin creeping across his face._ _

__Zayn knows exactly what he’s thinking. “There was this one time after a party,” he explains. “I mean, nothing really happened—but Niall’s quite the humper when he’s drunk, fair warning.”_ _

__“I did not need to know that,” Harry says, groaning and flinging an arm across his eyes dramatically. “When will you all stop making sex jokes with Niall?”_ _

__“Your turn next, pretty boy,” Niall says, waggling his eyebrows, and Louis makes a noise of protest, drawing the curly-haired boy closer to him and wrapping his arms around him securely. Zayn makes a mental note to ask Liam whether Harry and Louis have a thing._ _

__He gets everyone set up in the seventh year boys’ dormitories, shows them the bathrooms, and then has to suffer through Liam shamelessly stripping off his shirt and stepping into the showers. Zayn’s pretty sure that he didn’t need to know that Liam is well muscled with big biceps and a light smattering of hair across his chest under his shirt._ _

__“Don’t slip in your drool, Zayno,” Niall mutters, and Zayn smacks him across the back of his head._ _

__“Shut it.”_ _

__When everyone’s done in the bathrooms, they get in their beds and turn off the lights. The last thing that Zayn thinks before he falls asleep is that he wants to show Liam Snufflelus tomorrow._ _

__***_ _

__“Well, well, well.”_ _

__Liam can see Zayn immediately tense up at the sound of the voice behind them, but they all turn around anyway._ _

__“Are these the world-famous Quidditch players Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson?” The speaker is a tall, broad-shouldered blond boy with a strong nose and a disdainful smile. The badge on his robes tells Liam he’s a Slytherin prefect, but he also looks a bully, frankly. “What could such celebrities be doing in our humble school?” He affectedly startles at the sight of Zayn. “Surely they’re not visiting you, Malik?”_ _

__“Actually,” Harry says brightly, “I’m the world-famous chess player Adrian Roonilsplit! This—” He gestures to Louis and Liam “—is my entourage. And I come to visit you because congratulations! You have won the chess aficionados’ raffle from the Daily Prophet.” He waves dismissively at Zayn. “I don’t know who he is, sorry. Are you ready to challenge me to a game of chess?”_ _

__Liam feels a laugh building up in his chest as the boy gives Harry a confused and slightly disgusted look. Zayn relaxes a bit and grins at Harry._ _

__“Hey, Adrian, I’m a huge fan, can you sign my tits?” Niall asks, somehow simultaneously managing to make a soppy face at Harry and sending a filthy look to the Slytherin boy._ _

__“Who the fuck are you?” the boy asks Harry, who just smiles wider._ _

__“I’m the man who’s ready to take you on in a game of chess! Name the time and the place, my friend.”_ _

__The boy makes a contemptuous sound and turns away, his cloak swishing behind him dramatically._ _

__“You name the time and the place!” Harry calls. “I’m ready for you, pal!”_ _

__The minute the boy is out of earshot, Harry, Niall, and Louis fall about howling with laughter. Zayn stares after the boy for a moment, his brows pinched together in worry, and then starts laughing as well._ _

__“Fucking brilliant, mate,” Niall wheezes, slapping Harry on the back. “How’d you come up with that?”_ _

__“Being a gossip columnist gives you a lot of ideas,” Harry says, shrugging. “He looked like he needed something like that, to be honest.”_ _

__“Who’s he?” Liam asks when everyone has regained themselves._ _

__“Just some dick in our year who gives me a hard time cause I’m Muggleborn,” Zayn says. “Honestly, the rest of the Slytherins hate him more than I do. Gives them all a bad name.”_ _

__Louis nods solemnly. “There are a few people I know in the Quidditch world who are like that. Think that they can be buddy-buddy with me cause I used to be a Slytherin. I’ve always put them in their place, though.”_ _

__Zayn shrugs, pulling a wry face. “Assholes are everywhere.”_ _

__“You should be careful, though,” Harry says, frowning. “There was a story my editor covered about an upsurge in hate crimes against Muggleborns that’s been happening lately. There’s this neo-Death Eater group that’s been going “Muggle-hunting”—they’re literally trying to kill Muggleborns, Zayn.”_ _

__Zayn just shrugs again, his shoulders tense. “No one’s gonna try anything like that at Hogwarts, Harry.”_ _

__“Just fucking be careful,” Niall mutters. “Why is it so hard for you to be careful?”_ _

__“I live life in the fast lane,” Zayn says with a sharp smile that tells everyone to shut the fuck up about it. “Are you lot all pureblood like Niall, then?”_ _

__“I am,” Louis says. “Payno and Haz are halfblood, though.”_ _

__“Brilliant.” He stands up and stretches, the sharp, defensive smile fading to be replaced by something more genuine and excited. “So, who wants to see the dragon?”_ _

__***_ _

__As it turns out, only Liam wants to see the dragon. Zayn reckons that’s not surprising, given that it is a dragon, after all—they’re not exactly known for being friendly. He assures Liam that Snufflelus is completely safe, to which Liam simply replies, “I trust you.”_ _

__“And if he eats you, Liam? Then what?” Louis demands._ _

__“I’m pretty sure Zayn’s not gonna eat me.”_ _

__“Well, I meant the dragon, but—after seeing him ogle you without your shirt on last night, I’m not sure Zayn wouldn’t eat you, too.”_ _

__Zayn feels himself flush redder than Newt, and quickly looks away from Liam so he doesn’t have to see his reaction._ _

__“Let’s just go,” Liam sighs, and Zayn is all too happy to comply._ _

__They stop by Hagrid’s cabin to say hi and pick up a bag of steak for Snuffelus. Hagrid remembers Liam and asks after Newt, and they chat for a moment before heading out to the forest._ _

__“If you don’t want to do this, don’t feel like you have to,” Zayn says. “I know dragons aren’t for everyone.”_ _

__“I want to,” Liam says earnestly. “You’ve talked about him so much that I can’t help but be a bit curious, y’know?”_ _

__“Okay. If you get scared or bored or—anything, I guess, just tell me and we’ll go back.”_ _

__“Got it.”_ _

__As they approach the clearing where Snufflelus is sleeping, Zayn keeps an eye on the other boy to make sure he isn’t freaking out too much—he remembers that the first time he’d snowed the dragon to Niall, he’d been more panicky about the anticipation of walking up to the dragon than actually being around him; even Zayn can admit that hearing the rasping breaths and smelling the sulfuric heat before you can fully see the dragon grates on your nerves the first few times._ _

__When the pearly wall of scales rears in their view, Zayn whistles softly, prompting Snufflelus to rise clumsily to his feet and come bounding over._ _

__“Oh my god, Zayn, be careful—” he hears Liam say sharply before he drops the bag and opens his arms to fling them around the long, scaly neck affectionately._ _

__“Hey, Snuffles,” he says as the dragon nuzzles over his hair in a gust of hot breath. “I brought you a friend, yeah? Y’wanna meet him?”_ _

__Snufflelus chirps fondly in response and bumps his nose against Zayn’s limbs in his customary check-up to make sure he’s been keeping healthy. Zayn chuckles and scratches behind his horns before turning around to face Liam. The other boy is standing slack-jawed a few feet away, staring at the pair of them with obvious incredulity._ _

__“Yeah,” Zayn says nervously. “So, erm, this is Snufflelus.”_ _

__Snufflelus makes a friendly whirring noise and cranes his neck towards Liam curiously, head tilted to one side. Liam jumps back, eyes widening, and the dragon makes a soft noise of disappointment, retracting his neck and shuffling behind Zayn like he’s trying to hide._ _

__“He’s so—big?” Liam says finally, slowly sinking to the forest floor. “And he just listens to you like that?”_ _

__“Erm, yeah.” Zayn absently strokes the dragon’s cheek. “Snuffles ‘ere knows who’s in charge, right, boy?”_ _

__Snufflelus bumps his nose against Zayn’s shoulder happily and then delicately snags up the bag of steak to start slurping up meat in what Zayn is sure must be a grotesquely frightening show of teeth to Liam._ _

“How the _fuck_ ,” Liam says after a moment, and then just stops, staring at first Snufflelus and then Zayn with an undefinable expression. 

__Zayn offers him a weak smile. “We can go back to the castle,” he says quickly. “Sorry for bringing you, I should’ve known—”_ _

__“No, no, no,” Liam jumps in, his eyes still flicking between Zayn to Snufflelus. “I’m just—I’m really fucking impressed, Zayn.”_ _

__“You’re—what?”_ _

__“I mean, when you said you had a dragon, I thought it would be in, like, a cage or something, but this, uh—well, Snufflelus is just out and about and he’s like—he’s like a dog? Like, he’s so friendly, and he obviously respects you, and I just—” He looks up at Zayn, and suddenly Zayn can place the expression on his face: it’s awe. “You’re unbelievable, Z.”_ _

__Zayn can feel himself flushing, both from the praise and the nickname._ _

__“I—well—it’s not really—”_ _

__Snufflelus, who has by now devoured the bag of steak (including the bag) pokes his nose into Zayn’s shoulder again and cranes his neck towards the sky._ _

__Well._ _

__“So Liam,” Zayn says cautiously. “How do you feel about riding a dragon?”_ _

__***_ _

__Unbelievable._ _

__Absolutely un-fucking-believable._ _

__Liam’s seen some pretty amazing things in his travels around the world, but he’s never seen anything quite like Zayn bloody Malik._ _

Who just _befriends_ a dragon like that, anyway? How does that even work? Dragons are supposed to be vicious, brutal man-eaters, not happy, affectionate pets that leap into your arms and eat meat practically out of your hands. Liam’s about ninety percent sure that Zayn has some inner magical power that connects him to animals, like a princess out of a fairy tale or something. Just—absolutely, completely, unutterably unbelievable. 

__And now, because apparently this is Liam’s life around this incredible, implausible, quite frankly slightly frightening boy, Liam is about to be launched thousands of feet into the air on the back of said dragon, with nothing to cling to but a few back spines and Zayn’s waist._ _

__“Okay, hang on tight—take-off can be a bit rocky sometimes,” Zayn says calmly, like he’s not talking about being flung off the back of a real, live dragon. “You ready?”_ _

__“I—” Liam says, and then suddenly the opalescent, scaly back underneath him sways violently—Snufflelus (who names their fucking dragon Snufflelus?) is launching into a jerky, clumsy run that nearly throws Liam off his back. There’s only a few seconds of it, though, because once the dragon has worked up enough momentum, he bounds up into the sky effortlessly, and then it’s all strong, smooth wingbeats and graceful, weightless swoops that nearly make Liam pass out._ _

__After a moment, once his head clears from the sheer terror and wonder of it all, Liam realizes that Zayn is shouting his name._ _

__“Yeah, sorry?” he yells over the rush of the wind._ _

__“I said, are you okay? You want to land?”_ _

Liam hesitates—it really is frightening, being this high up on a _fucking dragon_ —but then he looks up at the swirling, ethereal clouds, down at the glittering landscape of the Hogwarts grounds, and then over at Zayn, who’s twisted around to look at Liam with wide, worried eyes. 

__“I’m fine,” Liam says, the words leaving his mouth almost without his consent. “Seriously, Z, m’fine.”_ _

__“Are you sure? I know that—”_ _

__“I’m okay,” Liam repeats, his voice stronger now. “This is really fucking amazing, Zayn.”_ _

__“I know it can be a bit much, I probably—”_ _

__“Hey.” Liam reaches out to cover Zayn’s hand with his own, offering him a hopeful smile. “Seriously. It’s good. This is great.”_ _

__Zayn looks at him worriedly for a second, and then, slowly, as if he’s trying to convince himself that Liam is sincerely fine, an answering smile spreads across his face._ _

__Liam’s spent his fair share of time in the air (being a professional Quidditch player will do that to you, after all) but he’s never quite experienced something like being on a dragon’s back. It’s simultaneously thrilling and frightening—the irregular spins and swoops have his heart in his throat, but at the same time he feels acutely alive and at one with everything, connected to the clouds and the wind and the graceful, powerful being beneath him. The air gets thin when they get higher up, but Zayn performs a Bubblehead charm before they become lightheaded._ _

__The view is probably the most breathtaking part of the journey—there are fluffy mountains of clouds when they’re higher, and the sparkling expanse of snowy mountains and lakes when Snufflelus dips down lower. There are a few times when they turn so sharply that Liam’s almost sure that they’re going to fall off, but instead they just get a clear, brief glimpse of the dizzying stretch of landscape before they’re shooting upwards again._ _

__“Still doing okay?” Zayn shouts after a while of this. “It’ll be a bit before he gets tired, but we can land now if you’d like.”_ _

__“I’m still doing good,” Liam says, and he sincerely means it; his grip around Zayn’s waist has loosened a bit, and he’s relaxed a little. He’s not so preoccupied with the thought of being on an actual dragon now, instead just being able to enjoy it. “I’m actually kind of loving this, Zayn. I mean—it’s fuckin’ amazing.”_ _

__“I’m glad you like it,” Zayn says, so quietly that Liam barely hears him over the rush of the wind, and for some reason that means more than the entire ride—that it matters to Zayn whether Liam’s enjoying this, that this incredible experience would mean nothing if Liam didn’t like it._ _

__For a moment, suspended over the clouds in perfect, thrilling peace, it feels like there’s nothing else on earth but the beautiful view miles beneath him, and the beautiful dragon carrying him, and the beautiful boy in front of him whose heart Liam can feel beating through his chest. Zayn twists around a bit to grin at Liam hopefully, his face lighting up when he sees the incredulous, awed smile on Liam’s own face._ _

__“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Liam says, because he can tell that this is something that Zayn loves, a dream that he holds close to his heart, and it feels intensely personal to be here with him, isolated from the rest of the world as they soar effortlessly above the fantastical cloudscape._ _

__The gold in Zayn’s eyes catches the light of the sun when he shifts a little, and for a brief moment, Liam’s breath is taken away not by the wind, but by the sharp, painful beauty of the boy before him._ _

__“There’s no one I’d rather share it with.”_ _

__Liam swears his heart is going to beat out of his chest._ _

***

“Found something interesting in the paper that you might want to see,” Harry says when they come back for lunch. “Actually, two interesting things.” 

__“Let’s see them, then,” Zayn says, holding out his hand for the Daily Prophet as he sits down._ _

__“How was the dragon?” Louis asks. “Didn’t get eaten, I see?”_ _

__“It was amazing,” Liam says reverently. “Never seen anything like it. And Zayn—he was amazing with it, yeah, it was like something out of a story. The dragon just listens to him like it’s a dog. And we rode on its back—it’s nothing like being on a broomstick, Louis, it’s like—I dunno. Like something out of a dream.”_ _

Zayn feels a soft, strong warmth spread through his chest. For some reason it had been deeply important for him to know that Liam had enjoyed it. The light in his eyes inspired by their morning out together feels like some sort of promise that Liam is actually here for _him_ , a vow that Liam’s not here to make fun of him or for anything but the enjoyment of his company. 

__(That’s ridiculous, Zayn knows that, but it still feels important. It feels like Liam has looked into a portion of his most private thoughts and liked what he saw.)_ _

__“So what am I looking at, here?” he asks outwardly, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who snatches the paper and flips to the third page._ _

__“Well, first and most importantly, this.”_ _

Zayn takes the paper back and glances over the headline, feeling his stomach drop a little, the light in his chest effectively snuffed out: _Three Muggleborns in London Found Dead After Neo-Death Eater Attacks Last Week_. He looks back up to see Niall and Harry looking at him seriously while Liam and Louis swap confused looks. 

__“Yeah?” he says, keeping his face carefully blank. “I mean, s’terrible, innit, but like—”_ _

__“This is what we mean by being careful,” Niall says, his face uncharacteristically somber._ _

__“What, you’re saying I’m next, or something?” he asks, his voice coming out flat and pinched. “We’re at Hogwarts, s’the safest place on earth other than Gringotts, everyone knows that. It’s not like this is during the reign of Voldemort.”_ _

__Everyone winces at the mention of the Dark Lord’s real name, and Zayn shrugs. Being Muggleborn, he was never raised to avoid saying the name at all costs, and sometimes it slips out despite Niall’s relentless training to do otherwise._ _

__“Of course it’s not,” Harry says soothingly. “But there are some dangerous people out there who’d want your blood because of—well, your blood.”_ _

__“Yeah, but they’re not at Hogwarts, are they?” he snaps. “I’m fine, it’s gonna be fine, and if it’s not, there’s nothing I can do about it so I may as well not worry myself to death about it.”_ _

__“I think what they’re trying to say,” Liam says in his warm, calming voice, “is that we’re all worried about you, and we just want you to be careful because we don’t want you to end up hurt, yeah? We just want you safe, babe, we don’t want to scare you.”_ _

Zayn deflates a little, but still grumbles out, “Well, you shouldn’t be worried about me because I’m _fine_.” 

__“The other thing is just something I thought was funny,” Harry says after a few beats of silence. “Go to the back where the gossip columns are.”_ _

__Zayn riffles through the paper until he gets to the last few pages where all the celebrity gossip and rumors are—it’s not typically a section he spends much time on when he reads the Prophet, but today he’d struck by the largest headline on the page, accompanied with a grainy moving photo of a blurry figure he recognizes as himself ducking into St. Mungo’s after the match all those weeks ago._ _

_Liam’s Secret Love Paynes_ , the headline screams, and Zayn immediately lets out a snort. 

__“You’re not telling me—”_ _

__“It gets better,” Harry says. “By the way, I keep telling people at the Prophet to stop making those awful punny headlines out of Liam’s last name, but . . .” He trails off and shakes his head at the futility of his quest._ _

__The article is a relatively long one—nearly a full page—full of dramatic speculation about Zayn’s name, background, age, whether he’s a student or now, whether he’s a Quidditch fan or not, whether he’s a long-term boyfriend or a one-night stand, and, to Zayn’s immense amusement and mild disgust, whether he’s a top or a bottom._ _

“This is fucking brilliant,” he says when he’s done reading. “Never thought I’d ever read such priceless gems like _is this mystery man in Liam’s life for the money, the fame, or for true love?_ about myself, but I reckon we all have our moments. Or this one: _We can easily imagine this slender enigma being dominated by Mr. Payne’s Quidditch-raised muscles, but from the determined set of his shoulders, it’s possible that Liam’s lover may not be so submissive_. I mean, that’s just a whole new level of intrusive, innit.” 

“It does _not_ say that,” Liam says, looking mortified and grabbing the paper out of Zayn’s hand. “Oh, God, it does.” He flings the paper into a dish of shepherd’s pie and buries his head in his arms on the table. “Oh, God, Zayn, I’m so sorry.” 

__“Ah, babe, don’t be,” Zayn says, feeling a laugh bubble up inside of him. “I’ve always wanted to be called a slender enigma.”_ _

__“Don’t even speak those words to me, Christ.”_ _

Zayn’s eyes meet Louis’ over Liam’s hunched back, and they don’t even need to exchange words—there’s an immediate, silent consensus: _we’re going to give him hell about this for the rest of his life._

“It gets better,” Louis says loudly, flicking shepherd’s pie off the paper with the tip of his wand and picking it up. “ _If this mysterious boy is half as fit as the famously sizzling hot Tornado Keeper, we just might have the next number one hottest couple in the Quidditch world on our hands! We wonder if he’ll sit in the stands with the rest of the WAGS?_ ” 

__“Please kill me,” Liam says softly, but with great feeling. He looks up with a mournful expression. “Zayn, I’m so sorry about this, I didn’t think that—”_ _

__“It honestly doesn’t bother me, I think it’s brilliant,” Zayn says, laughing and affectionately rubbing Liam’s back. “Who would’ve thought that the biggest newspaper in the English wizarding world would one day be speculating about whether I’m a top or a bottom? I feel famous.”_ _

__“Which are you, then?” Louis asks seriously, and Liam smacks him upside the head. “What? It’s a valid question.”_ _

__“Harry, can you get the Prophet to stop writing about us?” Liam asks plaintively. Harry opens his mouth to mostly likely say yes, but then behind Liam’s back Louis slashes a frantic hand across his own throat, and a wicked smile spreads across Harry’s face._ _

__“Could I? Yes. Am I going to? No.”_ _

__Louis looks glowingly proud._ _

__“I hate you,” Liam says weakly. “I hate every single one of you.”_ _

__“Trust me,” Louis says, “we know.”_ _

__Zayn laughs and turns back to eating, his eyes falling on the Slytherin table for a moment in the process. There, staring at him with unmistakable malice, is Michelson with a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand._ _

__***_ _

__They end up outside, Liam, Louis, and Niall all carrying their brooms. The Gryffindor team is practicing on the pitch, so they find a flat patch of snow on top of a hill, and deem it good enough. The sky is starting to cloud over with the promise of more flurries later on and there’s a freezing wind picking up, but Zayn conjures up small, hot fires to encircle their make-shift pitch and keep them warm._ _

__At first, Liam, Louis, and Niall all just toss a Quaffle around for a bit idly while Harry and Zayn stand on the ground warming their hands over the fire and calling out periodic shouts of encouragement and distraction._ _

__“D’you play at all, then?” Zayn asks Harry after a bit._ _

__Harry laughs. “I’m very good at the theoretical side of it. In practice, m’a bit hopeless, honestly. Do you?”_ _

__Zayn pulls a face, shaking his head ruefully. “You’d think I would, being around Niall all the time, but no. Can’t fly a broom to save me life.”_ _

“If you think you should be able to fly, think how I feel. One of my best friends and my boyfriend are professional— _I mean_ —” Harry claps both hands over his mouth and looks around guiltily. 

__“You were saying?” Zayn says innocently._ _

__Harry takes his hands off his mouth and sighs. “So, yeah. Louis and I—I dunno.”_ _

__“It would appear that you and him are boyfriends?”_ _

__“Maybe,” Harry mutters. “Sometimes I don’t know what we are.”_ _

__“Have you talked about it?” Zayn asks gently, sensing that this is a bit of a touchy topic._ _

__“Not really, I just—we’re boyfriends in everything but name, you know? Erm, like—spending time together and kissing and—fooling around.”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“But we just never defined it, and we don’t tell anyone, and I—”_ _

__“Hey, Liam, d’you think we should get these duffers on brooms?” Louis’ voice rings out, and Zayn and Harry both duck as Liam and Louis swoop over their heads and land in a spray of white powdery snow._ _

__“Please no,” Zayn says instantly. “I swear to Jesus Christ I will fall, and I’m not even Christian.”_ _

__“Then you swearing to Jesus Christ doesn’t mean anything,” Louis says dismissively. “Liam, get him on a broom. Harold, you’re coming with me.”_ _

__“In more ways than one,” Zayn mutters to Harry before Liam hoists him onto the Firebolt in front of him. Harry chokes and nearly slips in the snow._ _

__(Don’t think Zayn doesn’t notice the way that Liam can easily fling him onto his broom like he weighs nothing, because he definitely does, and it’s making him desperately try not to pursue a line of thought that wouldn’t end well with his legs on either side of a broomstick, if you catch his drift.)_ _

__“You ready?” Liam asks in a gentle voice that belies the firm grip of his large hands spanning Zayn’s waist._ _

__“Yeah,” Zayn squeaks, his mind feeling like it’s racing everywhere at once—there are so many points of contact between them, and he thinks—_ _

__Then they’re kicking off from the ground, and Zayn has nothing to hold on to except the fragile stick of wood beneath him, and one of Liam’s arms is circled around his stomach which doesn’t feel very safe, because he’s using his free hand to make the broomstick shoot almost vertically upwards and Zayn swears to every single deity there is that he’s going to fall—_ _

__“You’re okay, right?” Liam shouts in his ear. “I’ve got you, Zayn.”_ _

__“I’m fine,” he grits out, his blood thundering through his ears like an executioner’s drum. “I think I’m gonna die, though.”_ _

Liam laughs—that asshole _laughs_ —before leveling out the broom so that they’re no longer streaking upwards. His arm is still solidly around Zayn’s waist, but Zayn still sort of feels like throwing up. For a frightening moment, he struggles to draw in air. 

__“Zayn?” Liam asks, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “Hey, Z, are you okay?”_ _

__“I’m okay.” He finally gets a gulp of oxygen into his lungs. “I’m okay, I'm okay. Just—warn me next time. I don’t fancy heights. I’m fine.”_ _

__“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we were literally on a dragon flying at least a thousand feet in the air earlier today, and you were fine.”_ _

__“M’used to that,” Zayn mutters, ducking his head—which, shit, bad idea, they’re quite high up—and feeling a rush of shame burn his cheeks. If Liam could handle being on a dragon for the first time today, he should be fine on a broomstick. “Wasn’t ready for this. Sorry. We can keep flying, it’s fine.”_ _

__He tries very hard to breathe regularly so Liam won’t be able to feel the way his chest is heaving with the fear of falling, but the other boy can still surely feel his heart racing wildly under his skin. All he can feel is the fucking shame that he can’t handle this burning up his whole body—he feels small and embarrassed and weak and afraid, and he really just wants to disappear: off the broom, off the grounds, preferably off the planet. Anywhere he doesn’t had to be so humiliated in front of Liam._ _

__“I’m landing,” Liam announces, and tilts the broomstick downwards, a gust of wind rising up to meet them as they swoop towards the ground. The minute his feet touch the solid earth again, Zayn stumbles off the broom and sits down heavily, snow be damned._ _

__“Zayn?” Liam asks again worriedly. “What happened? Are you okay?”_ _

__“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.”_ _

__“Zayn—”_ _

__“Sorry,” he says again, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at Liam. “I’m—”_ _

__“Zayn,” Liam says sharply. “Stop apologizing. What happened?”_ _

__“I hate heights,” Zayn says miserably. “I’m sorry, I—”_ _

__“You were okay earlier today, though?” Liam says, crouching down in front of him and putting his hands on his shoulders. “Hey, Zayn, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just—why were you okay then, and not now?”_ _

__“I dunno,” he says, nearly choking when a voice in his head whispers, _he won’t want you now, he’ll want someone he can fly away into the sunset with. You don’t have a chance, Malik_. “I dunno, it’s a mental thing, the dragon feels safer—there’s more underneath me, I guess, the broomstick feels so flimsy—I dunno, I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid.”_ _

__“It’s not stupid,” Liam says, but Zayn turns his head away so he doesn’t have to see his expression. “Hey, Zayn, look at me. It’s okay, why are you so upset?”_ _

__“I feel really fucking stupid,” Zayn says with a heroic attempt at a laugh. “I mean, I took you on a fucking dragon and you were fine, and I can’t even handle this.” He finally forces out a shaky, self-deprecating chuckle. “Fuck, you must think I’m really pathetic.”_ _

__“I don’t,” Liam frowns, but Zayn’s already standing up and brushing himself off, hoisting a smile up on his face and inwardly mocking his own shameful stupidity._ _

__“M’gonna go back up to the castle, yeah? You lot have fun. See you later.”_ _

__Shoulders hunched, he turns his back on the others and starts walking away, clearing snow out of his path with heat from his wand and wishing he could melt away as easily._ _

__***_ _

__“Heights just really freak him out,” Niall says. “He can hardly even go up on the Astronomy Tower. And he’d literally rather die than show anyone he’s frightened, y’know, so he’s probably quite embarrassed about the whole thing too. So he probably just needs some time to shut down and chill out.”_ _

__“But the dragon,” Liam says weakly, and then trails off as Niall shrugs._ _

__“The dragon’s fine. Phobias are irrational.”_ _

“But it’s a _dragon._ ” 

__“Phobias,” Niall repeats slowly, “are irrational.” After a moment he sighs deeply. “He’s okay, Liam. It’s just one of those weird things. I hate small spaces, but for some reason I don’t mind being in some of the smaller secret passages in the castle where you barely have room to breathe. Zayn hates heights, but for some reason being two thousand feet in the air on the back of a man-eating beast doesn’t bother him. No explanation for it, mate. Just the way it is.”_ _

__Liam mulls that over for a minute and then groans. “God, he must think I’m such an asshole. Who just grabs someone and puts them on a broom and shoots them into the air without even asking first? That was such a dick move, fuck.”_ _

__“I doubt he’ll hold it against ya,” Niall says cheerfully. “That lad thinks you have the whole universe inside of you, I’m sure he’ll let it go.”_ _

__“After he saved my life and everything, that’s how I repay him,” Liam mutters, deeply disappointed in himself for his inconsideration and the world for allowing him the opportunity to make such a fatal blunder. “I can’t believe myself sometimes.”_ _

__“Don’t sweat it, m’serious. He just needs to talk himself out of thinking that he let you down in some way and then he’ll be fine.” Niall laughs suddenly. “Christ, what a pair the two o’ ya are. You both think that you let each other down, and you won’t talk about it to each other, because you’re embarrassed, but when in fact no one is angry or disappointed in anyone—it’s all in your heads.” He mulls this over for another moment and then cackles again. “Fuckin’ legends.”_ _

__There’s a moment of silence, during which Liam worries at his bottom with his teeth anxiously, hoping that Niall’s right, and Niall periodically lets out a small, private chuckle at Liam and Zayn’s misfortune. Then Harry and Louis enter the Great Hall and sit down at the Hufflepuff table with them; both of their cheeks are slightly flushed, and Harry’s hair is even more rumpled than usual._ _

__“Where were you?” Liam asks, frowning as they both load up their plates with food, very pointedly not talking to each other._ _

__“Ravenclaw tower,” Louis says shortly, his lips pursed together tightly. They’re slightly swollen, Liam notices with a hint of suspicion._ _

__“Who let you in?”_ _

__“Some Tornadoes fan who wanted an autograph.” When Liam lets out a disapproving snort, Louis shoots him a sudden, brilliant smirk. “What? You already know I’m a shameless fame whore, Payno.”_ _

__“Yeah, but—”_ _

__“I checked up on Zayn,” Louis interrupts smoothly, and well. Liam has to ask._ _

__“He’s not angry, is he?”_ _

__“No, he’s not,” Louis says, looking decidedly sly for some reason. “He didn’t say much, to be honest—he was reading some huge book about dragons, cause apparently you’ve befriended the hugest nerd in the wizarding world, and for some reason I actually like that about him—but he mainly just seemed sort of worried about what you think of him now.”_ _

__Liam’s taken aback. “He what?”_ _

Louis sighs and puts down his fork with the weary air of an oracle who’s seen too many prophecies come true to be impressed anymore. “I believe his exact words were, ‘tell Liam’—wait, sorry, I meant _Leeyum,_ ” he says in a poor imitation of Zayn’s accent (in Liam’s opinion he should be able to do it better; they’re both from the North, after all), “cause that’s how he says it, so his exact words were ‘tell _Leeyum_ that I’m sorry about earlier today; I know it was a bit stupid, it just freaked me out, is all.’” Louis drops his Bradford accent and says in an amused aside: “At this point our dear Zayn paused and looked up me with those dreamy peepers of his from where he was sitting on the windowsill, and said, ‘he’s not angry, is he?’” 

__“Just get to the point, Louis,” Liam says, realizing that Louis is more than willing to drag this out as long as possible._ _

Louis lets out a small _hmph_. “If you insist, beloved. The bare facts are that our dear Zaynie is rather distraught over the thought that you might be disappointed in him or think that he’s in any way weak or pathetic. He’s embarrassed about the fact that you proved yourself on a dragon when he was unable to do so on a broomstick. And he feels selfish that he made you sit through a tour of his interests—which, to be fair, are rather unusual—while he was unable to be subjected to a session of yours. Some of this is inferred, of course.” 

__“I could have told you that without half the drama,” Niall mutters into his potatoes._ _

__Louis looks outraged. “Me? Dramatic?” He lays a limp-wristed hand on his chest. “You accuse me falsely, sir. What have I done to provoke this attack?”_ _

__“You convinced me for a solid half hour that milk isn’t real earlier today,” Niall says flatly. “And before that you tried to make me put a Dungbomb in McGonagall’s gillywater. Because you thought it’d be funny. That wouldn’t have been very fuckin’ funny, Louis.”_ _

__Louis considers this for a moment. “Fair enough.”_ _

__“Should I go talk to him?” Liam asks, ignoring the realization that Louis temporarily convinced yet another person that milk isn’t real (yes, he’s been the victim of that particular prank before, and yes, he believed it, and no, he doesn’t want to say for how long)._ _

__“Oh, good God,” Louis says. “Yes. Go. Begone.”_ _

__“You’re probably not gonna shut up about it until you do, so I vote yes,” Niall shrugs, picking up a pitcher of milk and squinting at it suspiciously._ _

__“You’ll feel better if you do,” Harry chimes in, and because Harry hasn’t given him bad advice yet, Liam scrapes back the bench and stands up._ _

__“Right. I’ll see you lot later, then.”_ _

__“That’s my boy,” Louis crows, offering his fist up to be bumped._ _

__And because Louis hasn’t given him good advice yet, Liam dashes out of the Great Hall and leaves him hanging._ _

__***_ _

__“Zayn.”_ _

__Being startled out of two hundred years of dragon history by the sound of the voice he least wants to hear the moment isn’t a great feeling, but Zayn looks up anyway._ _

__“Liam,” he replies blankly. “Who let you into the tower?”_ _

__“There’s a third year who really, really likes the Tornadoes,” Liam says, cracking a hopeful smile. “She let me in for a hug and an autograph.”_ _

__“Fame whore,” Zayn says teasingly, unable to not smile when Liam’s standing in front of him so earnest and sheepish._ _

__“Believe me, I know,” Liam sighs. “Look, I wanted to talk to you.”_ _

__“Okay,” Zayn says carefully, marking his page and setting down the book. “We can talk.”_ _

__“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Liam blurts out, sitting down heavily on the window sill beside him._ _

__Zayn blinks. “Um. No? Was just about to ask you that, actually.”_ _

__Liam frowns. “Why would I be mad?”_ _

__“I dunno, I just—you must think that I’m—”_ _

“I think you’re fucking amazing,” Liam says in one rush like he’s nervous, like _he_ , Liam Payne—international athlete, renowned heartthrob, and confidant, PR-trained celebrity—is nervous around _Zayn_. 

__“I was gonna say pathetic,” Zayn says after a moment of silence, during which Liam turns redder than he’s ever seen anyone go, even with the famously ruddy Niall as a best friend._ _

__“I definitely wouldn’t go with pathetic.”_ _

__“Well, that makes one of us, I guess,” Zayn mutters, and Liam frowns._ _

__“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Zayn, I mean—you can’t help what you’re afraid of, right? Phobias,” he says grandly, “are irrational.”_ _

__“You stole that line off Niall.”_ _

__Liam shrugs good-humoredly. “Guilty. M’serious, though—please don’t feel bad about it. I don’t think any less of you because you don’t like broomsticks.”_ _

Zayn lifts one shoulder noncommittally. He still feels a bit sick about the whole thing, and for a moment all he can hear is _too good for you, too good for you, too good for you._

__“Hey.” Suddenly Liam’s hands are on his shoulders again, two warm calming weights like anchors on either side of him. “Hey, Zayn. A-are you okay? You’re not mad?”_ _

__“Sorry. Yeah. M’okay. Just—spaced out for a moment.” He shakes his head a little, pushing the annoyingly self-deprecating voice out of his mind, and offers Liam a small smile. “M’definitely not mad at you, Leeyum.”_ _

__“Okay,” Liam breathes, and for a moment, Zayn is intensely, blazingly aware of how close they are, how if he leaned forward an inch—_ _

__“So we’re good?” Liam asks, leaning back a bit and licking his lips almost nervously._ _

__“We’re good,” Zayn says with a tired smile, reminding himself for the thousandth that Liam definitely isn’t interested in him. Isn’t and won’t ever be. “Only if you don’t feel bad about taking me on the broom, though.”_ _

__“Done,” Liam says brightly, holding out a hand to shake, and Zayn takes it. He takes his hand and falls, and falls, and falls._ _

__***_ _

__The rest of Christmas break flies by in a blur of watching the boys play Quidditch and trying to beat Harry at wizarding chess and pulling brilliant pranks with Louis, who’s become the best partner in crime Zayn could ever ask for. It’s probably the best holiday break he’s ever had—they celebrate Louis’ birthday on Christmas Eve with a brilliant party in the Gryffindor common room, and on Christmas morning he watches the boys open presents, and drinks hot chocolate, and is plied by the boys with sweets and spare sets of socks that came in the mail as gifts. In the afternoon, Liam shyly approaches him and says, “I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, and all, but I thought you’d might want a present, too? Just—it’s a thank you gift for saving my life, if you want, or an early birthday present, or anything, just—yeah.”_ _

__He shoves a painstakingly wrapped gift into Zayn’s hands and flees to the other side of the room as quickly as he can to hide behind a copy of the Daily Prophet._ _

Zayn glances after him bemusedly and then carefully tears into the shiny paper, savoring the crinkle like he always does. There’s two books laying in his lap when he’s done: _The Beginner’s Guide to Broomsticks_ and _The Century’s Rarest Charms: Secrets to the Magical Underworld._ For a moment, he just stares at them, and then he carefully opens the cover of the first one; there’s a note tucked in the crease of the spine on the first page. 

_Hi Zayn!_

_So it’s a bit cliché, giving a Ravenclaw books for Christmas, yeah? I just thought you might like these. I hope you’re not offended by this one—I just thought that maybe you’d like to study the theory of Quidditch and broomsticks so you might feel more comfortable on one in the future? It’s not a big deal if you don’t want, though. I just thought you’d like to take a look. Where there’s ignorance, there’s fear, and all that. Not to say you’re ignorant, of course—you’re the smartest person I know (don’t tell Louis that). But maybe if you know more about broomsticks you’ll be less afraid of them._

_The second one is just something I stumbled across in Flourish and Blott’s a long time ago that reminded me of you. There are some really brilliant charms in there—nothing I could ever do, of course, but maybe you’d be able to give them a go. I dunno. I just thought you might find it interesting. So. Merry Christmas, I suppose? Or whatever you want to call it. It’s a gift. I hope you enjoy it._

_Liam._

__Zayn grins down at the books in his lap silently for a moment, feeling his heart expand in his chest until it’s almost too tight to breathe._ _

__“Leeyum,” he calls softly across the common room, setting the books down carefully on the floor. Liam makes a faint noise behind the Prophet. “I know you’re not reading that, babe; you’re holding it upside down.”_ _

__Liam lowers the paper reluctantly._ _

__“C’mere.”_ _

__When the other boy is only a few cautious steps away, Zayn reaches out and pulls him down into his lap. Liam lets out a surprised squeak._ _

__“Zayn!”_ _

__“Thank you for the books,” Zayn murmurs, briefly and affectionately nuzzling along the curve of Liam’s shoulder before he can stop himself. “Didn’t have t’get me anything, y’know.”_ _

__“I know,” Liam says quietly, ducking his head a little. “But I wanted to. So. Yeah. Do you like them?”_ _

__“Of course I do,” Zayn says warmly. “I wish I had something for you, but—”_ _

__“Erm, let’s see here,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “You saved Newt’s life, you saved my life, and you’re letting me stay here over the break even though I’m sure it’s quite a bother. I think the scales still tip in your favor, t’be honest.”_ _

__Zayn snorts. “All right. Still feel bad, though.”_ _

__Liam squirms out of his lap and stands above him for a moment, already starting to walk backwards towards his seat. “S’not like you could buy me anything I don’t have, Z.”_ _

__“Cocky much?” Zayn teases with a quirked eyebrow, but then nearly chokes when Liam smirks right back, a wicked light dancing in his eyes._ _

__“Oh, you have no idea.”_ _

__***_ _

__The end of break comes all too swiftly, and before long Liam finds himself packing his bags and bidding Zayn and Niall farewell. The season starts again soon, and they can’t afford to stay any longer._ _

__“Remember what I told you about being careful,” Harry says scoldingly as he hugs Zayn goodbye._ _

__“Remember what I told you about talking things over,” Zayn retorts, to Liam’s bemusement._ _

__Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about that. Niall—” he turns and hugs the Irish boy before pointing a stern finger at him “—stay out of trouble and keep Zayn safe.”_ _

__“Yessir,” Niall says, snapping to attention and throwing out a sharp salute._ _

__“Don’t need to be kept safe,” Zayn mutters, turning to Louis to hug him goodbye._ _

__“Take care of yourself, bro. Jinx the shit outta that Michelson bloke for me, he seemed like a dick,” Louis says seriously, and Zayn laughs._ _

__“I’ll do my best.”_ _

__There’s a moment’s hesitation before Zayn turns to Liam, a small, sad smile curling up the corners of his mouth. Liam opens his arms almost without thinking and Zayn steps into his embrace just as easily, their arms slotting around each other as perfectly as the corners of two puzzle pieces._ _

__“I’ll miss you,” Zayn mumbles into Liam’s shoulder, and Liam feels a fond warmth spread through his chest. “Write me, yeah?”_ _

__“Only if you write back,” Liam teases gently, rubbing slow, clockwise circles into Zayn’s back to comfort them both. “I’ll see you soon.”_ _

__“Yeah.” They stay like that for a long moment, and then Zayn pulls back to grin at them all, crinkled eyes golden in the icy winter sun._ _

__“Get on with you lot, then,” Niall crows, and almost in unison, the three of them step neatly out of the Hogwarts boundaries and Apparate, spinning into nothingness._ _

__Liam’s been traveling all over the world for years now and has friends in more countries than he can count, but saying goodbye is always harder than he expects it to be._ _

__***_ _

__Classes fall back into their regular routine and Zayn gets re-used to the grueling schedule that is the life of a student getting ready for their NEWTs. As all his teachers are now reminding him, the most important tests of his life are only a few months away (okay, more like six months away, but whatever) and he can either study hard and pass them, or resign himself to a life of unaccomplished joblessness._ _

__He still consistently finds time to write to Liam, though—that’s one thing he always makes sure to carve out a few minutes for. Occasionally, he’ll get letters from Harry and Louis as well—Louis usually to ask for Hogwarts gossip, provide Quidditch gossip, suggest prank ideas, and complain about various things, while Harry sends a lot of newspaper clippings, weird little doodles, and oddball advice that Zayn finds works as often as it does not. He and Liam, on the other hand, exchange letters almost daily to share details about their respective days and talk about their common passions; Zayn is sending Liam muggle comics because everyone deserves to know about Batman and Green Lantern, okay? It’s not like he almost bit Niall’s head off last year for touching one of his comics but is willing to send them through the rough and undependable owl post for Liam. No. Definitely nothing like that._ _

__With everything else going on, he doesn’t have much time to think about or be harassed by Michelson. There are a few quiet weeks where the Slytherin boy seems content to mind his own business, but then—then the graffiti starts._ _

__It’s okay enough at first, dripping red letters that say obscene things or crude drawings that piss off all the teachers. Then they start getting violent—saying things about hurting other students, or just alluding to vague threats without getting into the specifics. McGonagall makes a speech about how unacceptable it is during breakfast one morning, and everyone assumes that either anyone who had done it had gotten caught, or they will be too scared to continue after McGonagall is onto them._ _

__It doesn’t stop._ _

__If anyone, the threats get more specific. At first the messages on the wall start talking about killing other students. Everyone’s a little uneasy now, because if whoever’s doing this isn’t scared of getting caught, who knows what else they could be unafraid to do?_ _

Then one day the castle wakes up, and there’s just two words painted on the walls, this time in six foot tall, dripping red words: _die, mudbloods_. 

__Zayn’s not going to lie: he’s terrified._ _

__He’s already heard enough about what’s going on outside of Hogwarts—muggleborns and muggle families being found dead, or reports of clandestine meetings between purebloods that profess hatred for people like him—that he doesn’t really want to have to go through it himself, here. The worst part is that no one really seems to know or care._ _

__Not until it hits Hogwarts, at least._ _

__Niall tells him that the teachers are stepping up security (God knows how he knows that) but he doesn’t really notice anything that’s changed. It makes him irritable and on edge, and he snaps at Niall about it more times than is really fair. Half of him feels like they should put the whole school on lockdown, and the other half wants to just ignore the threats and continue on as normal._ _

__The thing is, Zayn’s so fucking tired of being afraid. He’s been putting up with hatred and bigotry his whole fucking life, and he’s so, so sick of always having to be careful and responsible and timid and cautious. Sometimes, he’s more than willing to sacrifice the assurance of being safe for the price of not letting the endless, exhausting prejudice get to him. In his more frustrated moments, he thinks he’d even seek out the culprit himself and try to find a way to turn them in, but the worst thing is that he doesn’t know who’s doing it. He can’t fight back, because there’s nothing but shadows to strike out, and he can’t hide, because he has no idea who he’s hiding from or where to go._ _

__There’s nothing but dripping paint and hateful words to light his way, and the path is beleaguered by the constant risk of being the next newspaper headline himself. Not that Zayn really thinks that someone would actually attack him at Hogwarts, but—still. It’s a possibility._ _

__But Zayn, for all his faults, is responsible enough to know that if he keeps his head down and doesn’t pick fights, he should be safe; he’s had a lifetime of navigating the rocky rapids of hatred, and he knows where to steer in order to avoid common pitfalls. Soon enough, whoever’s doing this will get bored and move on, and this will all just be a dark stain on the record of his last year at Hogwarts. All he has to do is keep himself safe—and be careful—until then . . ._ _

__***_ _

_Hi Liam!_

_Dunno if you’ve heard—I think they kept it out of the papers, but maybe Harry found out, you know how he does—but there’s been some stuff going on at Hogwarts. Bad stuff._

_Someone’s been putting graffiti on the walls, and it’s getting quite scary. There hasn’t been a message put up for two days, but the last one said “die, mudbloods.” I suppose there must be one of those neo-Death Eaters here, or maybe one of their children. Anyway, McGonagall’s trying to put a stop to it, and classes are cancelled until she does._

_Don’t worry about me, though—I’ve been staying in the library and the common room a lot, and not going out after dark. Not that I think anything would happen, but it’s good to be careful, right? Niall’s always on my case about it, so I’m in good hands until this all clears up. Anyway, I don’t think there’s really anything to be worried about; no one would try anything at Hogwarts these days. So just focus on getting into the national championships!_

_Speaking of that, I hear the Tornadoes are eligible for the cup if you win the next, like, five games or something? I’m so proud! Niall is over the moon about it—he says to say congratulations. And, of course, congratulations from me, as well. You lot are doing brilliantly; I know I could never do what you’re doing._

_I have been reading the book about broomsticks you gave me, though! I have a load of time on my hands now that classes are off for a bit. It’s actually quite interesting—I never knew the semantics of the hovering charms they use, but the history section that I’m in right now is covering it very thoroughly. Did you know it took them two hundred years to perfect a Hovering Charm that could respond to human direction? That’s bloody brilliant._

_Write back soon! I miss you loads._

_Zayn x._

__***_ _

__It happens quickly._ _

__He’s walking back from Hagrid’s house after dark—he knows that he probably shouldn’t be, but Snufflelus had been so eager to stretch his wings after a few days of Zayn not coming down to exercise him that Zayn hadn’t wanted to cut their flying session short. So it’s dark, and he’s alone, and he’s more than a little bit nervous about it, but it’s only a short walk—_ _

__A flash of red light streaking past his head is his only warning. He barely has time to draw his wand before another one hits him, and then, as he stumbles and falls to the ground, another one. They must not be Stunning spells, because he doesn’t fall unconscious right away, and they’re not a Petrificus Totalus curse either, but rather a slow-acting combination of the two, because his limbs go numb and heavy and his eyes start to drift shut._ _

_Well_ , he thinks, _this is it. I guess this is how I die. Mugged on the school grounds, and no one will ever know who did it_

__The last thing he feels before he falls into the dizzying blackness that welcomes him gladly is a person’s weight climbing on top of him, pinning him to the freezing snow, and then a burning, overwhelming pain consuming his arm._ _

__***_ _

_Dear Mr. Payne,_

_We regret to inform you that your acquaintance Mr. Zayn Malik, student at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been involved in an attack resulting in his admittance into St. Mungo’s hospital. You are being sent this letter at the request of Mr. Niall Horan, a classmate of Mr. Malik’s. Since Mr. Malik’s family are Muggles, and therefore cannot enter St. Mungo’s or related wizarding sites, you are invited, along with Messrs. Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, and Niall Horan to serve as family-level visitors for Mr. Malik until his recovery is complete._

_Mr. Malik is not in critical condition, but he is currently in a state of deep unconsciousness and it is unapparent when he will wake up. He has suffered several minor curse-related wounds and is under the effects of a powerful sedating charm, but is expected to make a full and unhindered recovery with few long-lasting effects._

_Your speedy arrival to St. Mungo’s would be appreciated. If you cannot or will not serve as a family-level visitor, please respond as soon as possible._

_Thank you for your cooperation,_

_Mathilda Maximus,  
Head of the Charm and Curse Ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital, London._

__***_ _

__“Where is he?” Liam demands, storming into the ward closely followed by Louis and Harry. Niall jumps up the moment he sees them, dark circles under his eyes and face drawn._ _

__“They’re still doing countercurses, he won’t be out for a while,” he says, looking small and exhausted and deeply worried as he stands in front of them. “They said he’ll be okay, but—”_ _

__He breaks off and looks away, his shoulders shaking. Liam understands all too well._ _

__“Hey, c’mere,” Harry says, wrapping his arms around Niall comfortingly. “He’s gonna be okay, Nialler. S’gonna be fine.”_ _

__“That’s what they said,” Niall mumbles against Harry’s shoulder. “But I just—”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“Why can’t his parents come in here?” Louis asks. He’s been edgy and snappy ever since they all got their letters, pacing around with a restless energy like a caged animal._ _

__“Most major wizarding buildings have anti-muggle charms on them, innit,” Niall says, drawing back Harry only to immediately latch himself onto Louis. “They know what happened, though; I called them with one of them weird muggle talking things.”_ _

__“Telephones,” Harry supplies, and Niall makes a dismissive gesture with one hand._ _

__“Yeah, whatever. Those things.”_ _

__“How did they take it?” Liam asks quietly. He’s been feeling like the floor has fallen out from under his feet for hours now; his head is spinning with worry._ _

__“His mum cried,” Niall says, his face somber. “Told me to keep her updated. His dad was angry. I think they feel, y’know, real helpless because they can’t help him out with shit like this.”_ _

__“It must be awful,” Liam mumbles, and Niall comes and wraps his arms around him._ _

__They camp out in the hallway outside the ward for three hours before they get any news; it’s probably the most excruciating period of time in Liam’s life—worse than waiting to hear if he’d gotten onto the Tornadoes, worse than waiting to see if he’d gotten kicked off the team after coming out, worse than the two days he’d spent the hospital this season. He knows that Zayn’s not in danger of dying; the letter and the Healer’s who’d talked with him briefly had made that clear, but they didn’t know whether they would be any long term effects, or when he’d wake up. Mainly, Liam as just angry. Underneath his worry and sadness and preoccupation with the immediate situation, he’s raging at the unfairness of it all—the fact that Zayn, out of everyone in the school, had gotten attacked (as selfish as that is), the fact that these attacks are happening at all, the fact that such dangerous, disgusting prejudice has the power and the hate to lash out mindlessly at someone as beautiful and brilliant and blameless as Zayn._ _

__The fury won’t do him any good right now, though, so he buries it in the back of his mind, where he knows it’ll stay until he has the chance to use it. For the moment, he focuses on sending good energy to Zayn (if things like that even work, anyway; Harry always says they do.)_ _

__It feels like years before a Healer comes out of the ward to talk with them, but eventually one does, and they all jump to their feet, swaying slightly from exhaustion but still eager for news._ _

“He’s starting to slowly— _slowly_ , mind you—wake up. It might take him up to another twenty four hours to be fully conscious, but you can start to go in there for a few minutes at a time in about an hour, all right?” 

__“O’course,” Niall says with a tired but still blinding smile, “Thank you so much, ma’am.” His relief is so palpable that the Healer smiles back almost affectionately._ _

__“Make sure you get some sleep, boys,” she says, and sweeps off grandly to the next ward._ _

__“Only another hour,” Niall says happily. “I can wait that long. At least we know he’s waking up ‘n’ everything.”_ _

__“Yeah, what a fuckin’ relief,” Louis breathes, stretching out his arms and yawning. “I swear me heart flatlined when we got that letter.”_ _

__Niall nods, his expression sobering. “I didn’t even get one o’ those. They just pulled me out of bed at the ass crack of dawn and told me he was in the infirmary and they were transferring him here. The only reason I even found out was cause they needed a family member to sign him in, and last time he was here he signed me off as a family-level visitor.” He shudders. “They told me that he was probably out there for a few hours before anyone found him.”_ _

Liam remembers with sudden, painful clarity the joke Zayn had made when they’d arrived at Hogwarts over the break— _I don’t know the anti-frostbite charm yet_ —and his heart twists a little. 

__“I can’t even fuckin’ imagine,” Louis says, his lips pinched together with worry. “What kind of monster . . .” He trails off, shaking his head, but they all know what he’s thinking: what kind of monster would it take to attack Zayn so brutally and then just leave him out in the cold, possibly for dead? The kind of inhumanity it would take chills Liam to the bone._ _

__The hour ticks by second by excruciating second, and then just when Liam feels he’ll go crazy from the waiting, a Healer comes and tells them one of them can go in for a few minutes. After a few quickly exchanged glances, Niall stands up and follows her into the ward—he undisputedly deserves the privilege of going first. The next five minutes drag by—Liam doesn’t think he can stare at the ward door any longer without being sick from sheer worry and suspense—before Niall stumbles out, his face heavy with sadness._ _

__“Is he okay?” Liam asks immediately, his heart dropping for the thousandth time today._ _

__“Yeah, he’s fine, I just—I hate seeing ‘im like that,” Niall says, voice breaking a little as he scrubs at his eyes roughly. “He’s not awake, but you can go in and see him if y’want.”_ _

__Liam glances back at Harry and Louis, who both motion him towards the ward, so he walks in slowly, his stomach twisting a little._ _

__Zayn’s impossibly tiny under the hospital blankets, the covers swallowing his already slender frame up to his chin. There’s the faint shadow of a bruise standing out on his cheekbone and a nasty-looking scuff mark on his temple that looks as though it may have bled quite a bit, but other than that he may as well be sleeping. In the warm yellow light of the lamp on the bedside table, his face is calm and innocent, his eyelashes casting long, fine shadows over his cheekbones. It makes Liam want to crack open his own chest and keep Zayn there, sheltered from the dangers of the outside world where he’ll be safe and warm._ _

__Liam sits down slowly by the bed, his heart beating so loud with relief and sadness that he feels like it should wake Zayn up. He can see what Niall meant by hating to see Zayn in this state; he looks fragile and vulnerable and completely stripped of his usual defensive, wry humor. He’s never wanted to protect Zayn from anything—has never thought Zayn needed protecting—but the delicate-looking boy on the bed in front of him makes him want to keep everything and everyone who might hurt him far, far away._ _

__As he watches, Zayn stirs a little, murmuring nonsensically for a moment before his eyes flutter half open to land on Liam. A soft, tiny smile curls up the corners of his mouth, and he slowly reaches out with one arm; Liam quickly wraps Zayn’s hand in both of his and leans forward, blinking back sudden tears._ _

__“How’re you feeling, babe?” he whispers, folding his fingers more securely around Zayn’s._ _

__“Leeyum . . .” Zayn mumbles sleepily, eyes starting to shut again. “What’re y’doin’ here?”_ _

__“Niall wrote me telling me about everything, I—I’ve been so worried, Z,” he says, hating the way his voice cracks with exhaustion and sadness._ _

__“Don’t cry, yeah?” Zayn says, his voice already slurring with sleep again, giving Liam’s hands a faint squeeze. “M’glad you’re here.”_ _

__Liam squeezes his hand back tightly, bringing his lips to the place where their fingers interlock. “I’m glad you’re okay, babe,” he whispers, but Zayn is out like a light again._ _

__“Time’s up, Mr. Payne,” a Healer says, entering the room with a leather case of medical instruments and a drawn wand. She pauses when she sees that Liam hasn’t moved, her face softening a little as she takes in their joined hands and the way Liam’s barely glanced up at her. “He means a lot to you, then?”_ _

__Liam swallows hard, eyes turning back to Zayn and taking in his peaceful expression that’s belied by the bruises, the way his fingers curl and uncurl softly around Liam’s, the curve of his mouth and the way it tugs down a little in his sleep._ _

__“Yeah,” he says roughly, looking away and blinking furiously. “He does.”_ _

__She watches them for a moment, and Liam wonders how they look—the unconscious boy who could have been killed for no reason but his blood status, and the privileged, world-famous Quidditch player hunched in tears by his side. Polar opposites drawn together like the ends of a magnet._ _

__“He’ll be all right, dear,” she says after a moment. “He’s in good hands.”_ _

__“I know,” Liam mumbles, standing and ducking his head. “I’ll go now, then.”_ _

__“All right,” she says gently, holding the door open for him. “Don’t you worry, now.”_ _

__He grins crookedly, sending one last glance over his shoulder at Zayn’s still figure. “Well—I’m a bit of worrier by nature, but I’ll try.”_ _

__***_ _

__When Zayn wakes up properly for the first time, Niall is snoring in the corner of his hospital room, Harry and Louis are slumped on the floor leaning on each other and dozing, and Liam is sprawled on the rug sound asleep. For a good two minutes, he just stares at the room around him wondering what the fuck he’s doing here, and then it hits him like a load of bricks._ _

__The first thing he does is laugh._ _

__Louis jolts awake first, eyes flying open at the sound of Zayn laughing and then a confused but relieved expression spreading over his face._ _

__“Zayn, bro?” he asks cautiously, gently easing Harry off his shoulder and quickly crossing the room to come stand by Zayn’s bed. “You all right?”_ _

“I thought I was dead,” Zayn gasps out, still feeling hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest. “I thought I was fucking _dead_ , I thought I was fucking—but I’m not, I'm . . .” He trails off, his laughter overtaking him helplessly. 

__“Why’re you laughing, mate?” Louis asks, looking a little scared._ _

__For a few moments, Zayn can’t speak with the silent, almost painful laughter shaking him, and then, when he’s calmed himself a bit, he says, “Because, fuck, if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll be crying.”_ _

__Louis looks at him with confusion and something approaching admiration in his eyes, and then swoops down to wrap him in a fierce hug, his sharp elbows digging into Zayn’s sides. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay,” he mutters, squeezing him tightly. “You have no idea, mate—it’s been fucking awful—but how are you feeling?” Without waiting for an answer, he draws back and makes a sweep of the room to smack the rest of the boys awake, saying loudly, “He’s fuckin’ awake, you lot, get your lazy arses up and tell him how glad you are to see his pretty face alive and moving again.”_ _

__“He’s awake?” Niall says excitedly, bouncing up out of his chair. “Zayn, mate—” He streaks across the room to fling his arms around Zayn and bury his face in his shoulder, mumbling, “Don’t ever fuckin’ scare me like that again, you dickhead, you probably took ten fuckin’ years off me life—”_ _

__“Sorry,” Zayn says into his hair, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”_ _

__The minute he pulls back, he’s replaced by Harry, who wraps his long arms around him and kisses his hair and then his cheek before pulling away to inspect the damage to his face._ _

__“Mate, they got you good here,” he says, touching Zayn’s right temple softly; Zayn winces at the throb that goes through his head at the pressure and Harry immediately withdraws with an apologetic noise. “You mainly look really good, though.”_ _

__“Thanks, Haz,” he says with a slight laugh. “I—”_ _

__But he’s cut off by the sight of Liam standing at the foot of his bed patiently, dark circles under his eyes and two days of stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks tired and worried and maybe like he’d been crying a few hours ago. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful._ _

__“Hey,” he says, smiling up at him softly. “I was—”_ _

__Liam breaks him off for a second time by closing the distance between them in two broad steps and pulling him into the tightest hug of his life._ _

__“Zayn—babe—” he mumbles brokenly into his shoulder. “Zayn, I—”_ _

__“I know,” Zayn whispers. “I know.”_ _

__Liam draws back and cups Zayn’s cheek with a careful hand, eyes searching over his face to assess the damage before letting out a quiet breath._ _

__“I was worried to death about you,” he says, relief painted all over his features. “Fuck, I—Zayn, I was so fucking worried.”_ _

“Shouldn’t’ve been,” Zayn mumbles, turning his head a bit to kiss Liam’s knuckles where they’re resting against his face, because celebrating the fact that you haven’t died when you really could have is the sort of situation where you can do that without it being weird. Liam smells like old cologne and Louis’ cigarettes and _Liam_ —like soap and apples and hot cocoa—and it’s so overwhelmingly comforting that Zayn almost wants to cry. 

__“Two minutes you were in hysterics because you’d thought you’d died, Zayn, cut the bull,” Louis says, and Niall cackles. “We were all worried, and we had good reason to be, stop playing the hero, Zayn, Jesus Christ.”_ _

__“Not playing the hero,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “I just woke up from near death, Louis, cut me some slack for fuck’s sake.”_ _

__“No rest for the weary,” Louis says brightly and Zayn flips him with off with as much as affection as is possible to put in an obscene gesture._ _

__“Weren’t we supposed to call a Healer when he woke up?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Not to ruin the moment here, or anything, but . . .”_ _

__“I’ll go find one,” Liam says immediately, ruffling Zayn’s hair gently and pulling back to cross the room to the door. “Be right back, yeah?”_ _

__“Want to see the headline the Prophet came up with while you were out?” Harry asks as Liam leaves._ _

__“Sure,” Zayn says, and the other boy produces a paper out of seemingly nowhere._ _

_A Lover’s Payne?_ was the title of the article, and Zayn laughs a bit as he starts to skim it. “You lot really need to start coming up with more original puns, Haz.” 

__“Believe me, I know,” Harry says grimly. “I’m lobbying for it every minute of my waking life.”_ _

__The article really isn’t anything new—just the usual speculation about a relationship between Liam and himself, with the usual amount of terrible puns and intrusive rumors, and the usual “sources” that none of them have ever heard of claiming that Liam and Zayn are in a secret relationship that they want to hide from the public for privacy reasons._ _

__“It’s my tragic fate to always be rumored to be dating a rich, handsome, famous athlete, I reckon,” Zayn says with a snort as he closes the paper and hands it back to Harry. “S’not the worst thing I could think of.”_ _

__“Look, I’ve got a question about that,” Harry begins, but then Liam charges back into the room followed by a tall, kind looking make Healer._ _

__“I found a Healer,” he says unnecessarily._ _

__“We can see that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re all ready to see you strip down Zayn and perform a physical examination of him for medical purposes, sir,” he adds to the Healer, whose eyes bulge out a little._ _

__“Louis,” Harry says, horrified. “You can’t fucking say stuff like that.”_ _

__“Why not?” Louis asks. “I’m rich, I’m young, I’m famous, one of me best mates nearly died, and I’ve been awake for seventy-two hours. D’you really think I have any sort of filter anymore, Haz?”_ _

“Well,” the Healer says, looking more than his fair share of uncomfortable, “I’m actually going to ask you boys to leave while I check up on Mr. Malik. Not because I’ll be—ah— _stripping him down,_ but just for privacy when we discuss his injuries.” 

__“Right,” Louis says. “Thanks for your help, sir.”_ _

__“And sorry about him,” Harry says, pulling Louis to the door. Niall and Liam follow them, promising to be back soon._ _

__“It seems like you have some good friends to support you through this,” the Healer says as the door closes. “Even if they are a little forward.”_ _

__“They’re brilliant,” Zayn says warmly, “best mates in the world.”_ _

__The Healer hums in mild agreement, skimming his wand over Zayn’s blanket-covered body and then brushing his cool fingertips over Zayn’s pulse points._ _

__“It seems like you’ll be making a full recovery, Mr. Malik,” he says when he’s done. “There is one concern, however. Have you seen your arm yet?”_ _

__Just as he says it, Zayn becomes aware of a sudden, stinging pain in his right forearm._ _

__“Erm, no.”_ _

__“You might want to take a look,” the Healer says, an undefinable expression on his face. “It’s not very pretty, and—well, it’s better that you do it sooner than later.”_ _

__“Yeah, all right,” Zayn says, bringing his arm out from under the blankets and rolling up his sleeve carefully. There’s a layer of bandages that he unrolls with nimble fingers, and then—_ _

__What he sees there makes his heart drop, and he looks up at the Healer quickly._ _

__“Are they going to—”_ _

__“They’re curse scars,” the Healer says, “so they’re not going to fade, no.”_ _

__“Oh.” He feels almost dirty staring down at the marks on his arm, and he swallows hard, resolving not to tell any of the boys. “Can I get them tattooed over, then?”_ _

__The Healer shrugs, his face soft with sympathy. “You can try, I suppose.” He reaches out and gently wraps Zayn’s arm back up, sliding his sleeve over the injured area. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Zayn mutters, still staring down at his arm. “What’re y’gonna do, I guess. S’life as a Muggleborn these days, innit.”_ _

__The Healer doesn’t say anything, just looks away and sighs. “Get some rest,” he says finally. “I’ll send your friends back in in a bit.”_ _

__Zayn watches him leave, his arm still burning._ _

__***_ _

__“Yeah, Mum, m’fine,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes at Liam, who smiles fondly. “Seriously, I’m fine. There’s—” He stops and blows out a long breath, fingers stroking along the inside of his arm in a nervous tic that Liam’s never noticed before. “There’s no permanent damage,” he says finally, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m all good.”_ _

Liam watches as he nods along with affectionate exasperation to whatever his mother is saying on the telephone he’s using, mouthing _sorry it’s taking so long_ to Liam when their eyes meet. 

__“S’fine,” Liam mumbles, making a dismissive gesture._ _

__“Yeah, just don’t want you to worry, Mum,” Zayn says into the phone, his voice soft. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’m completely fine. Am I what? Oh—yeah, erm . . .” He shuts his eyes again. “Yeah, m’out of the hospital. Didn’t even stay overnight—it was more just precautionary. Yeah. Yeah. No. Nothing lasting, Mum. Like, two bruises, I swear.”_ _

__Liam’s heart twists a little when Zayn shoots him a crooked little smile and a rueful shrug—they’re definitely still sitting in the hospital, and it’s been a few days since Zayn was admitted._ _

__“I promise I’ll be careful, Mum,” Zayn says, sighing. “Me friends are saying that they’re never letting me out of their sight again, so you have nothing to worry about, yeah? Okay . . . yeah. Tell the girls and Dad I love them. I miss you all . . . love you too. Okay. Bye, Mum.”_ _

__Liam quirks an eyebrow as Zayn hangs up. “Out of the hospital, are you? Didn’t even stay overnight?”_ _

__“Shut it,” Zayn says without malice, half-heartedly chucking a pillow in Liam’s general direction. “Just don’t want her to worry bout me. She’s got enough things to worry about.”_ _

__“And you nearly dying shouldn’t be one of them?”_ _

“No,” Zayn says defiantly. “It shouldn’t. She’s got the girls to worry about. And it’s not like I _did_ die, so she doesn’t need to worry about what could have happened.” He sighs again, leaning back in his bed. “I hate tellin’ her about this sort of thing in the wizarding world, y’know? It just makes her worry about me. I think she’s scared that something really bad will happen and she won’t be able to help me or anything, cause she’s a Muggle and all.” He shrugs. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, I guess.” 

__“You have sisters?” Liam asks gently, trying to get the miserable look off Zayn’s face—he almost instantly brightens._ _

__“Yeah. I do. They’re all Muggles, though. I miss the hell out of them every school year.”_ _

__“How old? Both mine are loads older.”_ _

__“One older, two younger. The older one—Doniya, she’s going to uni for fashion—uni’s like, erm, well, Muggle Hogwarts, I s’ppose? But, like, you pick a specialty to study in. And the other two are still in secondary school.”_ _

__They talk about their sisters for a bit, and then the rest of the boys come in—that’s a thing they’ve been doing, leaving someone with Zayn while the rest of them go eat, mainly because he’s been quite down ever since the day he’d woken (justifiably so, of course). Liam reluctantly switches out to go eat lunch, and by the time he comes back, all residue of sadness has disappeared from Zayn’s face; he and Niall are relating a story about a Gryffindor friend of theirs while Harry and Louis roar with laughter._ _

__Maybe Liam’s wrong, and there’s nothing weighing on Zayn’s mind after the attack. Maybe you really can just sometimes recover after things like that, like the Healer he’d talked to had told him. Maybe there’s no shadow of fear or darkness that still wraps its arms around Zayn to keep him looking over his shoulder or sleeping uneasy._ _

__Liam just really, really doubts it._ _

__***_ _

__Hagrid comes to visit Zayn in the hospital, carrying a card that makes dragon noises when it’s opened, and, as an unfortunate Healer finds out to the demise of one of her robe sleeves, periodically spits fire at whoever touches it. Areeb, Ed, Eleanor, Josh, and Perrie swing by as well to bring him books and tease him about having a bunch of celebrities hanging out in his hospital room. Mostly, it’s the boys who sit with him, although after a few days Liam and Louis have to go play a game, which leaves just Niall and Harry. They’re more than often company, though, and Zayn and Niall spend hours teasing Harry about Louis. They even get Harry to swear that he’ll ask Louis out on a proper date once Zayn gets out of the hospital—“Although just as incentive for you to get better sooner,” Harry insists, which they all (including him) know is bullshit._ _

__That quickly turns into Niall and Harry teasing Zayn about Liam, however._ _

__“Just fuckin’ admit it,” Niall says bluntly, rolling his eyes when Zayn denies having feelings for Liam. “You’ve been in love with him since the minute you bumped into him at Honeyduke’s and don’t you dare deny that. The entire fuckin’ wizarding world ships you two.”_ _

__“That’s only cause of the Daily fucking Prophet,” Zayn says stubbornly. “Which has no basis in fact, by the way.”_ _

__“Oh, shut up,” Niall says. “You’re arse over tits for Liam, and we all know it.”_ _

__“Am not,” Zayn says, but it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. When Harry and Niall both fixate him with their most unimpressed glares, he sighs deeply. There’s no more point in denying it—he never did the best job at concealing his feelings for Liam anyway, even to himself. “Fine, maybe a little.”_ _

__Niall lets out a crow of glee, and he and Harry slap triumphant high fives. “I fuckin’ knew it!” Niall shouts, while Harry claps Zyan on the shoulder seriously._ _

__“I knew you had the emotional capacity to come to terms with your feelings and own up to your own smittenness like a man,” he says, and Zayn rolls his eyes._ _

__“You’re such a fuckin’ hypocrite,” he mutters._ _

__“At least I realized that I had feelings for one of my best mates a long time ago,” Harry retorts, “It took you long enough.”_ _

__“Whatever,” he says, feeling like he’s going to roll his eyes out of his head one of these days._ _

__“The words of a defeated man,” Harry says smugly, and Zayn just gives up altogether._ _

__***_ _

__“Okay, all ready?” Niall asks as Zayn shuts the door to his room quietly so as not to disturb the other patients. “M’gonna go downstairs and call the Knight Bus, and Payno’s gonna help you sign out.”_ _

__“Don’t need help signing out, Leeyum,” Zayn says, because God knows that ever since the Healers told him he’d be leaving the hospital today he’s been adamant about doing everything for himself. Liam shrugs, shouldering his overnight bag and following Niall and Zayn to the front desk._ _

__“S’fine, I’ll just keep you company then.”_ _

__Zayn stops suspiciously as Niall heads for the hospital exit. “Wait a second. Is this some sort of plan you lot have devised to have eyes on me all the time from now on?”_ _

__Liam snorts. “No, but thanks for the idea.”_ _

“ _Leeyum._ ” 

__“I just want to keep you company! I won’t be seeing you for a while after today, want to fit in all the Zayn I can.”_ _

__Zayn pauses, quill dripping ink on the sign-out sheet on the desk in front of him. “You’re not still worried about me, are you?”_ _

__“What?” Liam says with poorly feigned surprise at the idea of still being concerned. “No, of course not.”_ _

__Zayn puts down the quill and turns to face him, arms folded over his chest. “Liam. You do know I’m fine now, right? Like, there’s no permanent damage, and no more injuries, and everything is, like, completely okay. You don’t need to be worried. You’re not me mum.”_ _

__“No,” Liam says before he can stop himself, “I’m not, because she’s not worrying about you. And you know why that is? Because you haven’t fucking told her anything about how serious this was, Zayn.”_ _

__“Oh, don’t start shitting all over me for that now,” Zayn mutters wearily, picking up the quill again and scribbling down his name. “Just fuckin’ relax, okay?”_ _

__They step out into the bright sunshine of the busy London streets; Zayn takes a deep breath of the filthy air, smiling widely, and stretches his arm out in front of him, rolling his shoulders in relaxing circles. “Feels so good to be outside again. Was only a week but it felt like being cooped up forever—Snufflelus must miss me, yeah?” He glances around the bustling street. “Where’d Niall go?”_ _

__“Probably an alleyway where he can summon the bus without everyone seeing,” Liam says. “C’mon.”_ _

__Zayn follows him down the street, looking about him happily and rolling up his sleeves to soak up the sunlight, a small smile on his face and a bounce to his step. Liam can almost forget the slight argument they’d had only minutes earlier—_ _

__There’s red on the inside of Zayn’s arm._ _

__It’s all Liam sees for a solid minute._ _

__“Zayn,” he chokes out finally, coming to a stop to in the middle of the crowd of London shoppers, his stomach tightening and heart sinking. “Zayn, what—what is that?”_ _

__“What’s what?” Zayn asks, turning to face him with an innocently raised eyebrow and the traces of a smile still lingering on his face._ _

__“Your arm,” Liam says, and watches, blood turning to ice, as Zayn freezes and then immediately tugs his sleeve back down over his arm._ _

__“It’s nothing,” he says shortly, turning back around again as more shoppers shoulder impatiently past them. “Don’t worry about it, Liam.”_ _

__But Liam’s already seen the way that his entire face closes off, the way his shoulders hunch defensively, and he knows it’s definitely not nothing._ _

__“Zayn, let me see.” He catches him by the other arm and turns him around gently, bringing one hand to rest on his shoulder and taking his marked forearm in the other. “Zayn.”_ _

__“It’s nothing, Liam, it’s fine, it’s—” But Zayn can’t look at him, and when Liam tries to make eye contact he turns his whole head away, jaw trembling and eyes too bright._ _

__“Zayn, it’s okay,” Liam says quietly. “Can I see it?”_ _

__The other boy shakes his head jerkily, blinking hard against tears._ _

__“Zayn.”_ _

__Zayn reaches up and dries his eyes almost angrily with his free hand, and then wrenches his sleeve up his arm and holds it up to Liam’s eye level._ _

__There’s a single word carved—carved, not tattooed or drawn on, but actually cut in—carved into the soft golden skin of Zayn’s forearm._ _

_Mudblood._

__“Zayn . . .” Liam says helplessly. “I . . .”_ _

__But there are no words for this, no words to console someone of this kind of ugliness and hate. There’s no apology strong enough to soothe this sort of injury, this brand that Zayn’s been marked with. Liam can do nothing but stare at the cuts in horror and feel tears well up in his own eyes._ _

__“S’pretty ugly, innit,” Zayn says tonelessly, drawing back his arm from Liam’s grasp and rolling his sleeve back down with an air of finality. “The Healers said they’re curse scars, so they won’t be fading, either.” He shrugs, his jaw clenched and eyes still too bright not to be filled with tears. “I’ll get it tatted over, or summat.” He looks up at Liam with a hollow smile playing on his lips. “Think I might be able to turn it into a pretty sick dragon.”_ _

__“Zayn,” Liam repeats, and then steps forwards to pull him into a crushing hug in the middle of the street._ _

__“Don’t you say you’re sorry,” Zayn mutters. “If I hear that right now I’ll jinx the shit out of you.”_ _

__“What do you want me to say?” Liam asks, and feels Zayn shrug._ _

__“Don’t say anything,” he whispers, and so instead Liam just holds him, the world swirling around them and Zayn still and quiet in his arms._ _

__***_ _

__There’s a flash of gold that whizzes that Liam’s ear; he’s so preoccupied with trying to block the next goal that he barely notices it until Louis goes streaking past his ear in pursuit. Two seconds later, the Seeker from the Ballycastle Bats goes whizzes by as well, narrowly clipping Liam’s temple with the tip of a broom twig. He scowls, rubbing his head irritably before turning his attention back to the Quaffle, which has thankfully made its way to the other end of the pitch, making it no longer his problem for the next few minutes._ _

__They’re six hours into the semi-finals for the National Quidditch Cup. Liam’s exhausted, annoyed, and getting impatient with the deadlock the teams are currently in. After six hours on a broomstick—no matter how high-grade it is—it gets to the point where you don’t really care if you win or lose: you just want to be on solid ground again._ _

__The most frustrating thing about the whole match is that every single commentator, player, and fan had predicted it would be an easy, under-two-hours win for the Tornadoes, and so the team had foolishly entered the match with far more confidence than they should have. And now they’re all gutted, tired, and angry at themselves, and the score has been a tie for over four hours. The Snitch has been sighted countless times, and no one’s managed to catch it yet—a fact that Liam knows Louis is currently beating himself up over—so he can’t really even get his hopes up about the fact that Louis’ chasing it this very moment._ _

__Almost as if summoned by Liam’s thoughts, Louis flies by slowly, shaking his head when Liam raises an inquiring eyebrow._ _

__“Not to be dramatic,” Louis mutters, swinging his broom in closer to the hoop so they can hear each other more easily, “but if we go overnight I’ll actually body slam myself into the ground from our current altitude. I’m just saying.”_ _

__They’ve only played one overnight match since Liam joined the team, and he remembers it as one of the most stressful and exhausting nights of his life. They’d lost in the morning, too, so over all it hadn’t been one of their best matches, and the memory makes him shudder._ _

__“Keep looking for the gold, then, Tommo,” he says instead, and claps Louis on the shoulder encouragingly. “You’ve got this.”_ _

__As if they could hear his words, their supporters below take up the chant of “Gold and blue! Gold and blue! Gold and blue!” Liam thinks of when he’d given Zayn tickets to the match where he’d fallen, and Zayn had made a joke about showing up decked out in their team colors. For a moment, Liam pumps his fist along with the cheers, inspiring a freshly encouraged roar from the fans, and Paul, flying by him to snatch the Quaffle from one of the Bats’ Chasers, gives him an approving look. As much as the game is about winning, it’s also about keeping the fans engaged and hopeful—something Liam has always been particularly good at._ _

__He blocks two more goals before the Snitch is spotted (and lost) again, and after that the referee calls a ten minute time-out so the players can go the bathroom, drink some water, and boost their morale. It’s not much of a reprieve, but it is something, so Liam’s not complaining. At least he gets to get off his broom for a bit._ _

__The locker rooms are wonderfully warm and dry—night is falling and its’s started to rain, so that’s a blessing—and bustling with people providing towels and water and clean robes, but Liam’s eyes go straight to one person only._ _

__Zayn’s sitting in the corner with a Transfiguration textbook, pushing his glasses up his nose and making notes in the margins of the pages, bobbing his head along to some internal beat. Harry’s sitting next to him, and Louis’ already racing to his side, but Liam just stands and stares at Zayn for half a second, drawn in by his beautiful calmness and normalcy in the middle of the chaos of the game._ _

__He doesn’t have much time to admire him, though, because the next moment Zayn looks up and beams, setting aside his textbook and getting up to walk over to where Liam’s standing._ _

__“Hey,” he says, brushing off the shoulders of Liam’s robes gently and waving his wand to dry him off. “How’s it goin’ out there, hm?”_ _

__“Fuckin’ awful,” Liam mutters, accepting a bottle of water from someone who shoves one at him and unscrewing the cap. “At this rate we’ll be going all night, God.”_ _

__“You’ll do fine, I know it,” Zayn says, and Liam just rolls his eyes, because blind faith isn’t going to get them anywhere tonight._ _

__“Where’s Niall?”_ _

__“He went to go walk around the stands; said he couldn’t stand sitting down here not watching the game. Had to know what was going on, or summat.”_ _

__“Ah, yeah, right.” Liam forgets sometimes that Niall’s such an avid fan of their team, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense—Harry and Zayn don’t much care about Quidditch beyond the fact that they want the Tornadoes to win for Louis and Liam’s sake, but Niall is more invested than that._ _

__“He should be back soon since you lot are on break.” Zayn runs his hands up and down Liam’s arms like he’s trying to warm him up—a ridiculous effort, since the heating charm has already done its job, and Zayn’s touch has never done anything but make Liam shiver anyway. “You look tired.”_ _

__“S’cause I am,” Liam mumbles, bringing his head down to rest on Zayn’s shoulder and closing his eyes momentarily. “M’fuckin’ exhausted, and I don’t want to play overnight.”_ _

__It’s not something he would ever admit to someone else—showing team spirit is important, and if he’s seen as being discouraged, he could drag the whole team and the fans down with him. But Zayn’s a safe spot, a place where he can whisper his emotions against a sympathetic shoulder and receive validation and strength in return._ _

__“I’m sorry, babe,” Zayn says softly, rubbing a comforting hand over his hair. “You’re doing brilliantly, though.”_ _

__“Thanks,” Liam sighs, allowing himself to lean into Zayn’s touch briefly before straightening up and chugging down the rest of his water._ _

__“Payno!” Niall’s voice rings out through the locker room, and Liam looks up to see the Irish boy covered in blue and gold Tornado merchandise. “Fuckin’ brilliant save, that last one! Never seen anything like it, mate.” He claps Liam on the back and pulls him in for a brief hug before resting his hands on both of Liam’s shoulders and looking him seriously in the eyes. “I know you lot have got this, mate. You’re the best bloody team out there. They’re nothin’ compared to you, m’serious.”_ _

__“Thanks, Niall,” Liam says wearily. “S’all on Louis, now, though. If he gets the Snitch we can all go home happy.”_ _

__“Right, but you’ve got to hold down the home front,” Niall says, clapping Liam on the shoulder once again and drawing back; Zayn almost immediately slips a thin arm around Liam’s waist, and Niall snorts in disgust. “You two are so fuckin’ married. Jesus. I’ll go talk to—” he pauses, his eyes falling on where Louis and Harry are kissing in front of the whole room, Louis’ shirt half off from where he’d been changing into clean robes. “Never mind, they’re even more disgusting.”_ _

__(Because that’s a thing that’s happening now—Louis and Harry finally sorted out their shit after harry promised Zayn he'd ask Louis out. Liam couldn’t be more proud of them, or more overwhelmed by their constant need to kiss each other in public.)_ _

__(If he was with Zayn, he’d be kissing him in public a lot, too.)_ _

__Paddy comes in and calls that their ten minutes is up, and they all groan and head back out to the pitch. Liam turns and looks over his shoulder; Zayn is giving him a double thumbs up and a smile that Liam swears looks like the sun._ _

__***_ _

__The Tornadoes win, and the party the team throws to celebrate getting into the final for the National Quidditch Cup is a glowing, ecstatic affair that Zayn doesn’t remember much of afterwards. He remembers yelling his congratulations into Liam’s ear over the booming music, and throwing back a shot of something golden and fiery with Louis, arms linked triumphantly and roaring with laughter like they’ve won the world. He remembers dancing with a girl he doesn’t know on the dancefloor to a song with a bass he can feel in his chest, flirting with a man who tells him he looks like the sun is setting in his eyes, and then leaving his would-be suitor to go find Liam instead—Liam, who Zayn knows doesn’t see the sun in his eyes but still looks at him with immeasurably fondness as Zayn slips under his arm quietly to nestle into his side even though Liam is talking with a bunch of Quidditch people that Zayn doesn’t know. At some point during the night, a Tornadoes fan comes up to where Zayn and Liam are standing together at the bar and asks, “Sorry, hi, I really hate to bother you, but—but are you two actually dating?”_ _

__They look at her in blank amazement for a moment and then burst out laughing in unison, Liam’s arm still wrapped around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn wearing gold and blue jersey that he nicked off Liam at some point._ _

__“Nah, we’re not dating,” Liam says, still laughing like the idea’s ridiculous, and Zayn’s heart would twist a little more painfully if their sides weren’t currently aligned like two puzzle pieces, or if Liam was looking at him with the sort of affectionate warmth that makes Zayn question everything he’s ever assumed about Liam not wanting to be with him._ _

__The fan thanks them and apologizes for intruding before going away looking thoroughly unconvinced. Zayn can’t say he blames her._ _

__The rest of the night is truly a blur—Louis gives him more of that golden alcohol that feels like it’s setting his insides on fire, and after that everything blends together in one smooth, long hour of laughter and giddiness—but when Zayn wakes up, it’s in the Ravenclaw dormitories with a massive headache and Niall laying on top of him, snoring louder than Hagrid._ _

__He lays there, quietly, and feels his hangover course through him, his limbs sluggish under Niall’s weight and his head throbbing like it had the day he’d woken up in St. Mungo’s._ _

__It doesn’t hurt half as much as his heartache._ _

__***_ _

__The days after the match against the Bats are a whirlwind of realization that yes, they won the match with the highest point ratio of the Quidditch season this year, and yes, this means that they’re actually going to be in the National Quidditch Cup._ _

__It’s more than Liam can handle, honestly._ _

__If they win the Cup (which Liam barely lets himself even think about), they’ll be thrown into the grueling elimination matches that’ll narrow the best teams of each Quidditch-playing country until they have two that’ll play in the World Cup. Which is just absolutely mind-boggling, for him, because every time he thinks about it for two long, all he can think is that he’s just a normal seventeen year old boy—a Hogwarts dropout without much non-Quidditch accomplishment to his name—who’s somehow been thrown into this storm of craziness that’s both the best and the most stressful thing in his life._ _

__Not that he’s complaining, of course—he’s on top of the world with the rest of the team, but he’s also been really feeling the pressure of being famous (even though he’s always sort of hated that word) lately. He suspects—not that he would ever admit to Louis—that it has more to do with Zayn than actually being tired of Quidditch. The papers won’t ever let him alone about the other boy, and it’s gotten to the point where the team’s PR manager tells him that if he wants to let the rumors die down, he should makes sure not to be seen out and about with Zayn until the National Cup match is over. Which is bullshit, of course—Liam should be able to be seen out with a good friend without half of England believing that they’re fucking—but it’s also just the way it is._ _

__Zayn, thank God, isn’t hurt by Liam’s glum proposal that they not go out together for a few weeks._ _

__“S’bullshit that they won’t shut up about it, but I get that you want the focus to be on the game and not your love life,” he says, shrugging and unwrapping another Chocolate Frog. “It’s not like I won’t be seeing you at all; we can still hang out in private. ‘Ey, look, I got Louis.”_ _

__He holds up the card from the candy, which indeed has Louis’ smugly smirking face emblazoned on it._ _

__“I got meself the other day,” Liam says with a laugh. “It’s always weird, seeing your face on shit. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” He scowls down at the copy of the Daily Prophet laying on Zayn’s bed. “Just like I’ll never get used to these muckrakers trying to get in on who I’m fucking.”_ _

__“Ah, s’fine,” Zayn says gently. “You’ll probably enjoy everyone making a big fuss about it when they’re making it about someone you’d actually get with.”_ _

__Liam looks up at him and frowns. “What d’you mean?”_ _

__“I mean that you’ll probably like that everyone’s supporting you once they’re actually supporting a relationship with someone you’d actually be with.”_ _

__“Meaning that you aren’t?”_ _

__Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up, and his hands pause in the middle of unwrapping another Frog. “If I was, I don’t think these would just be rumors, would they.”_ _

“Well, I—” Liam flounders for words, tries to verbalize what’s in his head—a tangled mess of _they wouldn’t be if I had the courage to actually ask you out_ and _of course I want to be with you, I’m just too afraid to say so_ , and _why is it so hard to pretend like all we are is friends_ —but as usual, spectacularly fails, and just settles on opening his mouth and then foolishly, almost immediately closing it again. 

__Zayn laughs at his awkward silence (not in a patronizing way that makes Liam feel small, but rather in a way that fills up the quietness perfectly and lets Liam feel understood) and finishes unwrapping his Frog. “Babe, y’don’t need to look so guilty,” he says teasingly around a mouthful of chocolate. “I know it’s not like someone like you’d ever go for someone like me, m’not offended or anything. The papers just need something to talk about, and we’re something to talk about for now. When you get someone who—” he breaks off, frowning a little as he searches for the right words “—someone who’s good enough for you, I’m sure the papers will be more than happy to celebrate that.”_ _

__Liam stares at him. “Implying you aren’t good enough?”_ _

__Zayn grins and shrugs, eyes crinkling up at the corners like he didn’t just quietly break Liam’s heart. “I mean, we all know handsome, internationally famous Quidditch players don’t go for socially awkward dragon aficionados who can’t ride a broomstick to save their lives,” he says. “You’re not breaking me heart, Leeyum, don’t worry about it.”_ _

__It’s the most casual, least bitter self-deprecation Liam has ever witnessed, and all he can do is gape at Zayn because of how remarkably untrue the whole thing is._ _

__“What?” Zayn looks at him, deeply amused. “I hope you know that I’m not taking this whole thing about us dating seriously, like mate, I know that’d never happen.”_ _

__“You’re so much more than a socially awkward dragon aficionado who can’t ride a broom,” Liam mutters at last, because it’s all he can think of to say. “I hope you know that, Zayn.”_ _

__“Thanks, babe,” he says drily, “but we all know I don’t have much going on for me. Can we drop it now? M’getting a little tired of discussing my shortcomings.”_ _

He wonders whether this means that Zayn would ever want to date him. After all, he’d only said that it was improbable because he believes for some reason that Liam, the boy who thinks that he’s lucky for every waking hour he’s with Zayn, wouldn’t want to date Zayn, the boy who’s charming and funny and talented and smart and beautiful, and much, much more than Liam could ever hope to be. His mind is a mess of _you’re amazing,_ and _please don’t act like you’re less than me when you’re so much more_ , and _I wish I could whisper what I think of you along the line of your neck and stud the knowledge of your own beauty like stars into your eyes._

__He says nothing. Zayn has, as usual, left him tongue-tied._ _

__***_ _

__They actually have two days off school that coincide with the National Cup, so Zayn and Niall are, of course, going. It’d be almost impossible for them not to, seeing as they’ve been attending all of the recent games, and have, in their own right and somewhat like Harry, become the team’s honorary good luck charms._ _

__“And you just calm everyone down,” Liam says earnestly when Zayn once expresses doubt about their right to be in the locker rooms. “Like, I think it’s good for us to have someone there who’s just calmer about it and doesn’t have as much invested in it. I mean, I know you care and everything, but you’re just—saner about it, I guess.”_ _

__So on a brisk and chilly Friday morning, almost before the sun has broken over the horizon, Niall and Zayn set off to the biggest Quidditch game either of them have ever witnessed. Zayn’s mainly just sleepy—it’s not a secret that he hates getting up early, and it’s cold besides—but Niall’s bubbling with barely contained excitement, all sunshine smiles and shaking hands and quickly rattled off statistics about the Holyhead Harpies versus the Tornadoes. Zayn swears he’s more nervous about the match than the team is—although they won’t be seeing the other boys until they actually get to the venue and hopefully get inside the locker rooms, so he doesn’t have anything to compare it to yet._ _

__They take a Portkey to the venue, which has been set up in the form of a massive stadium in the middle of a forest somewhere in Scotland. There must be thousands of people there already—Zayn’s not surprised, given the importance of the event for the whole Quidditch world—and Niall sticks close to his side as they fight their way through the crowds. He’s never liked tight spaces, and especially not ones cause by lots of people, so Zayn may or may not jab a few people a little hard with his wand to get them out of the way. He knows what it’s like to be anxious in public, and Niall doesn’t need a panic attack today of all days, when he should be enjoying having front row passes to the game of a lifetime._ _

__They get to the spot where they’re supposed to meet one of the team workers to take them to go see the boys, but there’s only Harry standing there, scribbling on a piece of floating parchment and squinting out at the crowds around him. Niall brightens visibly when he sees him._ _

__“Do you happen to be our escort, sir?” the Irish boy calls out, adopting a posh British accent while slinging a familiar arm around Harry’s broad shoulders._ _

“I am, actually,” he says with a grin, neatly folding up the parchment and returning the one-armed embrace. “All right, Zayn? Liam’s been going bloody bonkers without you around to calm him down.” He snorts. “Suppose I better take you to him straight away. Right this way, then, honored guests.”

They follow Harry’s tall, lanky form into the crowds, hurrying to keep up with his long strides before the path he clears for them closes again behind him. 

__“I heard that Hagrid’s coming?” he throws over his shoulder. “I just assumed it was true because I heard someone talking about making space for a landing pad for a dragon. Don’t see how that could be anyone else.”_ _

__“Yeah, he’s comin’ on Snufflelus,” Zayn says. “Seeing as he never learned to Apparate, and he’s little big for the Knight Bus, and broomsticks have this habit of breaking when he sits on them. We’ll see how Snuffles deals with the crowds, I guess. Not that I think he’d ever be, like, dangerous, mind you,” he hastens to add. “They just make him nervous, so if he’s not secured properly, the worst thing he might do is fly off.”_ _

__“I trust you,” Harry says brightly. “Oh, and gossip columnists are everywhere, just a fair warning, so you’ll probably get papped walking in to see Liam, Zayn. Expect to have rude reporters get in your face and ask you intrusive questions.”_ _

__“I can take it,” Zayn says grimly, and Niall grins, making a mockingly soppy expression._ _

__“Aw, anythin’ for your love, right?”_ _

__“Shut it,” Zayn mutters, but Niall just smiles wider._ _

__“You didn’t deny it, though.”_ _

__Before Zayn can reply, Harry comes to a sudden halt._ _

__“Yeah, so. We’re here.”_ _

__Zayn peers around Harry’s outstretched arm to see what put the apprehensive note in his voice, and—_ _

__Oh._ _

__There’s a long walkway going into the locker rooms, which look like smallish tents but are probably so much more on the inside, but mainly—mainly, Zayn’s looking at the sea of flashing cameras and shouting photographers that stretch on either side of the path leading into the tents. His fingers automatically clench and unclench around his forearm, feeling the scars there like a grounding reminder that yes, everything is still the same._ _

__“He’ll understand if you don’t want to—” Harry begins, but Zayn breaks with off decisively with “Please, as if I’d ever let a bunch of paps stop me from seeing anyone. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t go.”_ _

__He takes a few steps forward, feeling his own shoulders hunch against the scrutiny of the reporters. “Nialler, you comin’?”_ _

__“Zayno . . . You know I would, but—that many people, I just—I fuckin’ can’t. I’ll go get our seats and come back; maybe there’ll be fewer of them by then,” Niall says, his voice shaking with a faint note of desperation. “I just can’t with that many people.”_ _

__“Okay,” Zayn says soothingly. “You know I don’t mind going alone. Haz?”_ _

__“I’ll join you later, promise,” Harry says. “Unless you want to wait and come to the Prophet tent with me quickly so I can drop off my notes.”_ _

__“No,” he says with a wry smile. “Reckon there’d be even more journalists there. S’fine, I’ll just pop in and say hi; they probably won’t even pay attention to me.”_ _

__“Right,” Niall says doubtfully. “Have fun testing that out.”_ _

__“Thanks, I will,” Zayn retorts, and steps out onto the walkway to demonstrate his obliviousness to the reporters._ _

__He feels terribly exposed, walking along that long path in spotlight of a hundred eyes, but even as he silently wonders why in the hell they had to make this thing so damn long and lonely and obvious. It’s a fucking walkway, an entry point, not a catwalk, Jesus._ _

The photographers and journalists don’t notice him right away—just think he’s another lackey running around with news for the team, most likely—but once they do, it’s like a fast-motion ripple effect, and then suddenly, a hundred hideous camera bulbs are flashing at him, and a thousand voices are yelling his name and Liam’s and asking questions that he can barely make out, and all he can do is tuck his head down and hunch his shoulders and _keep walking_ , for God’s sake keep walking because he’s genuinely afraid that if he stops now, they’ll tear him to pieces in their eagerness to extract an interesting story. 

__“Zayn, Zayn, are you going to go see Liam?”_ _

__“Is it true you’re together?”_ _

__“Can you stop for a picture?”_ _

__“Do you think the Tornadoes will win?”_ _

__He keeps his head and walks even faster, the flash of the cameras making his head spin and his eyes blur, and then suddenly he’s stumbling the last few feet into the tent, heart pounding in his ears like a horse race is thundering through his head, and then—_ _

__“Zayn?” There’s a rustle of motion that he can’t see as his eye adjust to the darkness of the tent, and then there are a pair of strong arms that he’d recognize anywhere crushing him into a firm chest, and all he can do is gasp out a faint, “Hi” into Liam’s comforting warmth._ _

__“You made it!” Liam draws back and holds him at an arm’s length like a proud uncle at a family reunion (an uncomfortable analogy, now that Zayn thinks on it, but whatever). “They didn’t give you too hard of a time, did they?”_ _

__“Nah, I’m okay,” Zayn says. “You know it is. White noise. Where’s the rest of the team?”_ _

__Liam gestures over one shoulder, where Zayn can see door leading to another room. “Pre-gaming. Everyone likes to look over statistics and gameplays and shit—makes me anxious.” He_ _

__“You’re all right, though? Not too nervous?”_ _

__“So nervous I might puke,” Liam says, grinning. “But also, like, I’m okay. It’s a good kind of nervous, if that makes sense?”_ _

“Nothing about you makes sense,” Zayn says before he can stop himself, but Liam’s eyebrows furrow only a little. _You’re a ridiculous, beautiful, nonsensical daydream, and I can’t bring myself to look away from you._

__“I just—hope I do the team proud,” he mutters, and Zayn wants to smooth the crease out from between his eyebrows, kiss the tension out of his shoulders._ _

__“You’re going to do brilliantly,” Zayn promises, “You’re going to amazing. You’re probably the best player in England.” When Liam groans fondly, he shakes his head. “M’serious, you donut. Best one out there today, but don’t let Louis hear me saying that.”_ _

__Liam looks at him with immeasurable affection for a moment, something soft and fond and beautiful in the brown of his eyes, and then the screams of the press from outside breaks the moment._ _

__“They’re gonna have a field day with this,” he mutters. “Sorry.”_ _

__“It’s fine,” Zayn says automatically. He thinks anything and everything would be fine as long as Liam was looking at him like that. “Can they see in here, or—”_ _

__“No, no,” Liam says quickly, glancing around as if to check. He looks back at Zayn, and for a single, breathless moment, their eyes dance over each other’s lips, the briefest of glances. “No,” he says again, quieter this time, taking a step closer so Zayn is forced to back up against the soft cloth wall of the tent. Another step, and they’re so close that Zayn can see the tiny freckles on his nose, the faint lines under his eyes. “S’just us, Z—”_ _

And then Liam closes the single inch of space between them, their lips not quite touching and his hands gentle and warm and large on either side of Zayn’s waist. Zayn’s never felt so small as he does right now, slender and fragile in Liam’s grip—the other boy smells like clean soap and hot chocolate and green apples, which feels safe somehow; Zayn wants to breathe him in and eat him up, preserve that scent so he can have with him always. Their mouths barely brush, and Zayn catches a soft breath that tastes of mint toothpaste and chocolate, and for a second he can barely breathe himself because _what is this, what is going on_ and— 

__Zayn lets himself fall._ _

__Their lips bumble awkwardly, gently, quietly together, their mouths chasing each other with teenage eagerness. Their noses bump together, and they draw back, laughing a little, almost apologetically, and then they’re drawn back together almost as if by magnets—Zayn can’t help but think that for all the experience that Liam’s doubtlessly had during his life in the spotlight, he still kisses like the boys Zayn’s kissed at Hogwarts; hungry and desperate, only with infinitely more tenderness and care, like Zayn is a treasure, a star, a piece of glass in his hands. Liam kisses him like he’s something precious, and Zayn kisses back like he’s drowning, like Liam is a lifeline and a boat and a gulp of oxygen all in one._ _

__It’s weightless and effortless for a moment—there’s no air or light or nagging self-doubt, and certainly no one watching them, and that makes Zayn bold, makes him cup Liam’s cheek with one hand and curl the fingers of his other around Liam’s broad shoulder, makes him rise up on his toes to meet Liam’s lips better and move his hand up to scrabble with blunt nails at the back of Liam’s neck, looking for a handhold in his too-short hair. Liam makes a soft noise and shifts his grip on Zayn’s waist, pressing his hands on Zayn’s back like he’s trying to pull him in even closer._ _

__Then the press screams again from outside and Liam stumbles back, his breath coming in short gasps and his eyes still shut._ _

__“Payno, why the fuck are the journos yelling?” Louis’ annoyed voice shouts from the other room. He yanks open the door and pokes his head out from the other room, scowling. “Oh, it’s cause Zayn’s here. Hi, Zayn. The press loves you, did you know that? You were voted hottest WAG of the match.”_ _

__“Um,” Zayn says, still trying to catch his breath, still trying to understand what happened, still trying not to wish it hadn’t ended. “Are they aware that I am neither female nor dating any one of the players?”_ _

__“Apparently not.”_ _

__The tent flap swings open and Harry stumbles in, rubbing his eyes. And Zayn loves him, he really does but—in that moment, the arrival makes him want to cry. He doesn’t want anyone else to be in the room but them; he wants to take Liam by the shoulders and shake him, ask him what he was thinking, ask him to do it again._ _

__“There’s a fuck ton of paps out there,” Harry says, still squinting in the darkness of the tent after coming from the bright outside. “They’re all going crazy about Zayn being in here, so Zayn, you and Niall will be Apparating in and out of here from now on. Too much of a ruckus—didn’t think it’d be this bad, Christ.”_ _

__He turns to Louis, looping a long arm around the smaller boy’s waist. “Are you all feeling good? Niall’s Apparating in here any minute now with water and words of encouragement.”_ _

__Louis brightens visibly. “Thank fuck; his pep talks are better than Paddy’s.” He glances guiltily towards the door of the other room. “Don’t let Paddy hear that.”_ _

__As if summoned by their words, Niall appearing with a crack in the middle of the room, arms full of water bottles and a broad beam on his face._ _

__“Zayn, our seats are the craic,” he says, flicking the bottles to rest in a neat heap on the floor with his wand. “We’ll have the best view of the house. Although—” he wrinkles his nose distastefully “—I did see Michelson up there as well, so we might have to deal with him. Privileged git.”_ _

__Zayn feels shivers go down his spine at the mention of the Slytherin boy’s name. He’s never been able to shake the sneaking suspicion that it was Michelson who’d attacked all those weeks ago, that it had been Michelson who’d left him with a maimed arm and friends who won’t let him walk alone at night any more._ _

“That’s fine,” he says aloud, but Liam’s eyes linger on him like he _knows._ “We’ll be in and out of here every two minutes anyway, so it won’t really matter, I reckon.” 

__An announcer’s voice rings out distantly from somewhere, and Louis and Liam both wince._ _

__“That’s the ten minute warning,” Liam says. “You’d better get to your seats. I’ll see you after the match, okay?” He addresses all of them, but his eyes are still on Zayn, still pinning him down with the heat of his gaze._ _

__“Okay,” Niall says, oblivious to the tension that still stretches out between Zayn and Liam, so thick and taut it could be cut with a knife. “C’mon, Zayner.”_ _

__“Bye, lads. Good luck,” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away from Liam’s and taking Niall’s hand to turn out of the tent and into the moment breath of empty space that always compresses his lungs shut before he can Apparate to his destination._ _

__Liam doesn’t look away. He doesn’t look down._ _

__Zayn has never wanted a match to be over this badly._ _

__***_ _

__Liam can feel adrenaline coursing through his veins like ichor, his mind a racing blur of anxiety and excitement (and marvel at his own daring only minutes before, wonder at the way Zayn’s lips had felt under his own, eagerness to press their mouths together again. Liam can see feel the ghostly imprint of Zayn’s warm fingers curled over his collarbone, the etched scratch of his nails against the back of his head, can still see the way Zayn can let him crowd him against the tent wall and take his mouth hungrily, the way he’d kissed back like he was freezing and Liam was a gust of warm air, still has the muscle memory of the way Zayn’s lithe, slender body had felt under his, pliant and warm and for a single shining moment, entirely Liam’s. He shakes his head to clear it.)_ _

__They have less than five minutes before they go out on the pitch, and it won’t do to have his head in the clouds._ _

__“You ready, Payno?” Louis murmurs, bumping their shoulders together softly. There’s an underlying tremor of nervousness and excitement to his voice that makes it crack slightly at the end, but Louis would never admit to being anything but wholly confident._ _

__It’s strangely familiar and comforting, the smirk on Louis’ face, the way they stand shoulder to shoulder like they do before each match. Ready to stand or go down together._ _

__“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Liam mutters. “S’fucking insane, innit. Us being here.”_ _

__“We deserve it a hell of a lot more than a lot of other blokes,” Louis says. “We worked our way here, Leemo. We’re more ready for this than any other team in England, maybe the world.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Liam says hoarsely. “Yeah, I know.”_ _

__“Do you believe in us, Liam?”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“I said, do you believe in us?” Louis’ blue eyes are unusually intense and serious on his._ _

__“I believe in us,” Liam says, his voice a little stronger. “We’re gonna win this bitch.”_ _

__Louis’ face breaks out into a smile, eyes crinkling up proudly. “You bet we will, Payne. You bet we will.”_ _

__The match starts out rough for both teams—half an hour passes before anyone scores anything—but the crowd seems to love it, roaring and groaning as the Quaffle is thrown from hand to hand at a speed Liam’s never seen before. He supposes that they’re just happy they didn’t pay what was surely an astronomical amount of money to see someone get beaten in a matter of minutes, though. That’s something he can understand himself; even if the Tornadoes won quickly, it would be undeserving and anticlimactic. His only complaint is that while the gameplay doesn’t require much thought or planning ahead (he’s relying mainly on muscle memory and reflexes to block the goals), it’s physically, intensely exhausting—an almost nonstop barrage of goals that he has to block again and again, his arms aching under the strain of being held up for so long._ _

__The first goal goes to the Harpies, which doesn’t surprise Liam; they have a strong Chaser named Angelina Johnson who catches him off his guard by feinting sharply to the right before neatly swooping away to toss the ball easily through the middle hoop. The Tornado supporters groan in response to the deafening cheer from the Harpies’ end of the pitch, but Liam doesn’t let it bother him too much—unless something drastic happens, the game has still only just begun, and there’s plenty of time for the Tornadoes to catch up. Such a slight lead this early in the game doesn’t really mean anything._ _

__Sure enough, Nick scores a fantastic goal a few minutes later, and soars around the pitch preening to the applause of the fans, grinning from ear to ear. Then it’s the Harpies who score again, and then Sophia gets a goal, and then—well, Liam loses track for a bit, because he’s so busy trying to block the Quaffle when it’s at his end, and keep an eye on it when it’s at the other._ _

__If this is anything to go by, it’s going to be a long, hard, easily lost battle. Liam’s honestly quite ready to fight it._ _

__***_ _

__Zayn watches the match with his heart in his mouth, the Quaffle a red blur across his vision as his eyes follow its path over the field. He’s seen his share of professional Quidditch matches at this point, but today’s game is just . . . something of a different level. He’s not sure if it’s the pressure or the high stakes or just the endless screams of the crowd, but something on the pitch is more urgent and almost more violent than usual. He can barely keep track of who is who, they’re flying so fast._ _

__Niall’s already bitten his nails down to stubs, his fingertips starting to bleed as he worries at them with his teeth anxiously and eyes flitting over the field while his Tornadoes banner is tucked limply under one arm. Zayn’s never felt so united when standing in a crowd before—everyone on this side of the stands is here for a common purpose with a common wish: they all want the Tornadoes to win, and no one cares who you are or where you’re from, as long as you’re cheering as loud as the person next to you. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and frightening, to have so much of your happiness and identity depend on a ball going through a hoop._ _

__Liam’s done magnificently—yes, the Holyhead Harpies have scored their fair share of points, but he’s been doing a good job of keeping the score fairly even. Zayn doesn’t know much about different strengths and strategies, but it seems that the Harpies have much stronger Chasers, forcing Liam to be constantly watchful. It’s also forcing the Tornadoes to play a defensive game—Nick, Sophia, and Paul are increasingly just trying to keep the ball away from their end of the pitch rather than actually trying to score—and making them play a game of catch-up that only accelerates in pace. The minute one team scores, the other feels the immediate pressure to pick up the slack, and more often than not, it’s the Tornadoes who are trying to keep up._ _

__On the other hand, Liam’s a much better Keeper than the one for the Harpies (and no, that’s not Zayn’s bias speaking; it’s obviously true from the way that the crowds are chanting Liam’s name every time the ball goes on his end of the pitch), which keeps the score fairly even most of the time. He can almost see the pride radiating out from Liam every time the crowds pick up a new cheer for him. Liam had once told him that nothing beats hearing a crowd scream for you—no matter how much you’ve played, it never gets old. Zayn can definitely feel some of that adrenaline tonight, almost as if he’s living vicariously through the team._ _

__“You look like you’re getting wet just watching him, Malik,” someone says behind him, and Zayn almost takes a jump off the stands from surprise._ _

__It’s Michelson, of course. Trust him to always ruin a good thing._ _

__“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Zayn mutters. “Did you come up here just to bother me?”_ _

__Michelson just laughs, slow and low and strange. Zayn turns around, an odd shiver running down his spine, and sees a group of dark robed people standing in the row directly behind him. Michelson’s standing amongst them, a sinister smile on his lips and an odd glimmer to his eyes._ _

__“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, still with that strange smirk, “Mudblood. We’re here for much, much more.”_ _

__Zayn swears he can feels the other boy’s eyes boring a hole through his sleeve to where his scars lay._ _

__***_ _

__They win._ _

__They win, and Liam has never felt as acutely alive as he does when he blocks the last goal that would have let the Harpies win just as Louis scoops the Snitch out of the air inches from the hand of the Harpies’ Seeker. It’s like a rush of caffeine and adrenaline and felix felicis all in one, like a electric current that jolts through the whole team as they collectively realize they’ve won._ _

__A roar goes up from the stadium, faint at first and then building in volume like a tidal wave, a deafening, primal shout of triumph that echoes through the stands like a battle cry. There are thousands of people chanting their names, thousands of people screaming their thanks, and Liam only wants to find one._ _

__It’s easier said than done, however, because they’re hurried into locker rooms after they’ve finished accepting the Cup, and told to change quickly and freshen up so they can give press conferences and interviews. Then there are literal hours of questions and pictures, and while yes, Liam is pretty much on top of the world right now, he’s also bone-tired, and there’s only so many times you can describe what it felt like to win to a journalist who really doesn’t care about what you’re saying as long as it sells. There’s a certain boy Liam wants to get to, anyway, one who’s waiting for him with open arms and amber eyes and a soft smile that’s become Liam’s favorite sight in the world._ _

__After the press business—or the “dance, monkey, dance” routine, as Louis calls it—they have to go thank their sponsors, Coach Paddy, their fans, the opposing team, each other, their families, the Minister, England, you name it. Liam rather feels like he’s talked to every single person in wizarding England except the ones he actually wants to talk to by the time they’re done. And then there’s the after parties, the glowing, booming, magical celebrations filled with important people and lucky fans and glittering lights that make Liam’s head spin in the best way possible. They’ve been told not to get too drunk at these, a rule that Nick and Louis promptly elect to ignore, but Liam—dutiful as always—makes the rounds to the fans, signing, smiling and chatting his way through hordes of adoring people instead of drinking his way through the Firewhisky on tap._ _

__He’s just resigned himself to the fact that Zayn isn’t here—there are hundreds of after parties tonight, and he could have ended up at any other one of them—when a pair of thin arms circle his waist from behind, and he’s falling back into the tightest embrace of his life._ _

__Liam hears a fan say, “Oh my God, is that Zayn?” as he turns around to Zayn’s arms, but he ignores it in favor of bringing their foreheads to rest together and whispering, under the cover of the lights and music and voices, “We won.”_ _

__“I know that, you freak,” Zayn whispers back. “That’s sort of why I’m here.”_ _

__“Oh?” Liam steps back. “Looking for someone, are you?”_ _

__Zayn grins, soft and teasing and fond. “Yeah, m’looking for this really great bloke, his name’s Liam—he’s on the team, maybe you know him?”_ _

__“Hm, he doesn’t sound familiar,” Liam says, putting an arm around his waist and bringing him back over to where the fans are. “I’ll just have to do for now, I suppose.” He reaches out to sign someone’s robes. “Everyone, this is my friend Zayn. Zayn, this is . . .”_ _

__He trails off, looking hopelessly at the crowd of people before him. “Well, this is everyone.”_ _

__Zayn’s just about to open his mouth to reply when they almost simultaneously notice the quiet spreading out from the dancefloor. The lights are going off one by one, and there’s an eerie silence settling into the spaces between the crowds, people glancing around with vague trepidation like they suspect something is wrong, they’re just not sure what._ _

__That becomes apparent very soon, however, when a deep voice speaks loud enough to make the walls of the tent they’re in vibrate, as if it’s coming from a thousand mouths._ _

“ _If you value your lives, walk out on the pitch. Hands up, no wands. If you value your lives, walk out on the pitch_.” 

There’s a bout of nervous laughter as a few people exchange hopeful glances; Liam can read their lips: _it’s a joke, right? This has to be a joke . . ._

“ _If you value your lives . . ._ ” Liam can’t see what happens because it happens on the other side of the tent, but there’s a flash of green light and then a scream, and then suddenly, sickeningly, he thinks he knows. “ _Walk out on the pitch._ ” 

__There’s a moment’s hesitation, and then, by silent, universal consensus, everyone starts to file out of the tent. Zayn’s hand slips inside of his, fingers cold but steady and unwavering. When Liam glances over at him, he’s looking straight ahead, his jaw clenched and face calm. Liam doesn’t know how he’s not showing his fear; he’s sure that his own face is distorted with the panic that’s eating up his insides._ _

__The pitch is crowded with drunk, dazed celebrators when they get there, everyone hushed and tense but also oddly calm—no one is drawing their wands or running away or screaming. It’s almost as if—_ _

__And that’s when Liam sees them, standing a ring that’s been cleared in the middle of the crowd. Dark robes with hoods that cover their faces, wands drawn and striking out at anyone who dares to speak. There’s already a few crumpled bodies in a pile at their feet, which makes Liam wrench away from Zayn’s grasp so that he can turn from the sight, struggling not to retch or scream so he doesn’t attract the attention of the . . ._ _

__“Death Eaters,” quietly says a young woman who was one of the people who’d been asking Liam for an autograph. “These are Death Eaters.’_ _

__Liam looks at her with wild eyes, and then turns back to Zayn, who’s standing completely still, eyes flitting from the pile of bodies to the hooded faces and back again, his own face still in that expression of deadly calm. His hand is clenched around his forearm, where Liam knows the mudblood scars lay, and Liam can only imagine the kind of paralyzing fear that make be grasping him right now._ _

“ _Quiet!_ ” the deep, magically amplified voice says. “ _The next person who speaks will die_.” 

__If Liam had thought the crowd was quiet before, they’re deadly silent now. No one even dares to breathe or shift a finger._ _

"We are here to purge,” the voice continues, less forceful now that everyone's outside, and for some reason, it really freaks Liam out that he can’t tell who’s speaking. He’s always tended to get stuck on the details . . . 

__“ _We are here to cleanse the Wizarding race of the filthy blood of the Muggles_ ,” the voice says. “ _We are here to finish the Dark Lord’s noble mission. We are here to save the true and burn the false._ ”_ _

__“ _Long live the true race_ ,” a chorus of eerie, amplified voices joins in, and Liam’s shaking now. The terror that’s consuming him is surely nothing compared to what must be going on in Zayn’s mind right now, though, the fear and horror and shock that must be burning up every single Muggleborn in the crowd right now. _ _

__“ _Bring forth the hostages_ ,” the first voice says, and one of the hooded figures in the crowd shoves forward two bound, Stunned people—_ _

__A faint, choked sound rises up in Liam’s throat._ _

__It’s Louis and Niall._ _

__“ _If the Mudbloods among you do not give themselves up to us, we will kill you all, starting with these two. They will die slowly, tortuously, and bloodily. The choice, Mudbloods, is yours. Will you watch your friends and family and heroes die tonight, or will you give yourselves up for the betterment of wizardkind_?”_ _

__For a few moments, no one does anything. Everyone is too transfixed, too horrified by the sight of the prisoners to move. Then someone at the front of the crowd shouts, “We have the same right to magic as you do? I think you’ve had too much to drink, sir. Why don’t you take your pureblood privilege and shove it up your—_ _

__There’s a brilliant flash of green, and the man who’d spoken out joins the heap of bodies at the Death Eaters’ feet._ _

__“ _Time,” the voice says, “is running out. Step forward now or we begin the killing._ ”_ _

__There’s another few seconds of silence, and then a tall girl who’d been standing at the front of the crowd steps into the ring of Death Eaters with her head held high. The girl who’d been standing next to her screams, a wordless, petrified sound of protest, but one of the Death Eaters knocks her unconscious with a flick of his wand._ _

__“ _Our first volunteer_ ,” the voice purrs. “ _How brave. I can see from your cloak you’re a Gryffindor. It’s a pity you’re a Mudblood—we have room for such bravery in our ranks. For your bravery, we’ll wait to cleanse our world until everyone has stepped up rather than killing you one by one. Your courage, Mudblood, has won your filthy race a few extra seconds of your worthless lives._ ”_ _

__The girl’s shoulders are shaking, but she doesn’t respond to the words or bow her head. She just stares out at the crowd with an impassive expression, tears streaming down her face. Liam doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so tragic, or so brave._ _

__“Liam,” Zayn’s voice says in his ear, so quiet that he almost misses it, “do you trust me?”_ _

__“Of course I trust you,” Liam whispers._ _

__“Do you trust me to leave you?”_ _

__“Are you—” Liam thinks he’s going to throw up. There’s one thing he’s very sure of, and that’s that he wouldn’t be able to take seeing Zayn stand up there waiting for death with that look of steely calm he’s been wearing since they first heard the voice. He can’t think of anything worse—not seeing him in that hospital bed, not seeing Louis and Niall as hostages, not seeing that pile of bodies up there right now._ _

__“I can’t let them die, Liam.” Zayn leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to the underside of Liam’s jaw, lips lingering there for a fraction of a second before he’s pulling back and turning away. There’s a moment where Liam can see him slipping his way through the crowd, and then, surely because of a spell he’s cast, he disappears from sight._ _

__“He’s going up there?” whispers the young woman behind him, and Liam nods, his eyes still on the spot where Zayn vanished._ _

__He failed._ _

__He should have protested, should have screamed, should have lied to every person in this crowd that Zayn was a pureblood, that he had proof, that they grew up together. Surely, surely there must have been some way to stop him. Some other way to save Louis and Niall._ _

__He thinks his knees are going to give out underneath him._ _

__The young woman behind him gently moves past him, her head bowed and her shoulders tense. Liam watches her go, watches the way she scoops her hair off her neck and over one shoulder, the way her fingers knot together in front of her._ _

__Not again._ _

__He will not fail again._ _

__“Ruth!” he hisses, catching her by one arm and yanking her back towards him. “Stop that, you fucking idiot, you’ll get yourself killed.”_ _

__“Sorry?” she asks almost angrily, her eyebrows drawing together. “My name’s not Ruth. And I belong up there with the rest of the Muggleborns. Let me go, please.”_ _

__“Um,” Liam says, his voice shaking a little, “you’re not a Muggleborn, Ruth. Did you really have that much to drink? And d’you really think that I’d let my own sister go up there? We’re halfbloods, Ruthie, everyone knows that.”_ _

_I couldn’t save him_ , he thinks, _I couldn’t save the one person in this crowd I should have been able to save. So fuck if I won’t be able to save her instead_. 

__“You . . . I’m . . .” Her eyes are wide as the realization of what he’s doing sinks in._ _

__“You’re Ruth,” he says firmly, quietly, placing both hands on her shoulders. “You’re Ruth, and you’re safe, and we’re going to be fine.”_ _

__He tries not to look, but up in the ring of Death Eaters ahead of them, a dark-haired boy with a Ravenclaw scarf steps into the circle._ _

__***_ _

__Zayn slides around the last few stragglers in the crowd and takes off running, the Muffling and Concealing charms he’s put on himself ensuring that no one hears the thud of his footsteps against the ground. He knows exactly where he’s going, knew it the minute he saw Hagrid’s familiar huge figure in the back of the crowd . . ._ _

__It’s a long run, and his sides are burning with a stitch by the time he makes it there, but the forest that surrounds the Quidditch grounds eats him up comfortingly, a familiar feeling that relaxes him just a bit even though he’s never been in this particular forest before. Undoing the charms that keep from the eyes of the world now that he’s out of sight, Zayn brings his fingers to his mouth and shrills out a whistle that bites through the night clearly—it shouldn’t be long now—_ _

__“Malik.”_ _

__It’s Michelson._ _

__It’s always fucking Michelson._ _

__“Michelson,” Zayn says wearily, turning around with his wand drawn. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods? Thought you’d be over on the pitch with the rest of your Death Eater friends.”_ _

__“And I thought you’d be over on the pitch ready to give yourself up for your Quidditch player boyfriend and the rest of your little Mudblood-loving pals,” Michelson says, “but apparently not. Which is exactly why I’m out here—I’m patrolling for cowards like you.”_ _

__“Charming,” Zayn says tensely, glancing up at the sky. “Why haven’t you killed me yet, then? You could’ve easily gotten me in the back before you even opened your big mouth.”_ _

__“Because I want to see you die slowly,” Michelson says, his face twisting with something frighteningly sadistic. “I want to see the light go out of your eyes, Malik. I’ve wanted to do this for too long—hell, I’ve tried to do this before; I think even you figured out that it was me who attacked you—to get it over with quickly.”_ _

__He raises his wand, but Zayn does too, and so the minute the curse comes out of Michelson’s wand, Zayn flicks up a Shield charm, and the jet of light only ricochets away harmlessly._ _

__Michelson is undettered. “Stupid Mudblood,” he laughs, raising his wand again. “That may work in the classroom, but out here, we have forces stronger than you’d ever even dream of playing with.”_ _

The second curse that hits the shield splinters it to bits. Zayn’s first thought is _the only thing that can do that is an Unforgivable Curse_ , and his second thought is _I can’t believe he used Cruciatus_ , and his third thought is _I’m going to die._

__Every nerve in his body is searing with unbearable pain—he feels like his very atoms are being torn apart by razor sharp, red-hot knives—he wants to die, he wants it to end—he’s never felt agony like this before, didn’t know that something this excruciating could exist, didn’t know that he could hover at the edge of conscious like this for so long, could bear something like this for more than a few seconds without going insane, but his head is strangely clear, which actually just makes it worse, because he can clearly experience every shred of skin on his body feeling like it’s being torn off his bones and then set on fire—_ _

__And then it’s over, and he’s left panting and shaking on the ground with his limbs feeling like jelly and sweat pouring off every inch of his body. Michelson is laughing over him, and Zayn feels a strong, acute hatred consuming him with the kind of passion he’s never experienced before, a hatred that overpowers the pain and weakness and overwhelming urge to give up and let Michelson kill him._ _

__“Filthy Mudblood,” Michelson says, raising his wand again. “You’ll die slow and bloody tonight—learn how truly worthless your kind are. Isn’t that right?” He leans down, closer to where Zayn’s shaking helplessly on the forest floor. “Tell me I’m right, Mudblood.”_ _

“Dunno,” Zayn grits out. He looks up, past Michelson’s looming face, and up at the sky. A shadow passes over the moon, and he feels a deep, grim satisfaction. “Maybe you are. Maybe you’re right, and I’m nothing but a worthless Mudblood who’ll never make it anywhere, who doesn’t deserve magic abilities or Hogwarts or a wand, who doesn’t deserve the boy who he loves, who doesn’t deserve the friends he has. Maybe I’m nothing but a filthy Mudblood, a stain on wizardkind and a detriment to our progress. Maybe I do deserve to die—I dunno. Don’t think I’m really the person to make that decision. But I do know one thing, Michelson. I know that you’re on the wrong side right now, and that you can take your Cruciatus curse and shove it up your arse, because you may have an army and a mission and enough hatred to start a genocide, but I have a _motherfucking dragon._ ” 

__Something changes in Michelson’s face, and suddenly, he turns to follow Zayn’s gaze up into the sky—_ _

__Zayn can only imagine how terrifying it must be to see an enormous, glittering shape descend on you from the clouds with a wingspan the size of a house and a pair of wide-open jaws that could crush steel beams, but he’s really not very sorry to see the expression of pure horror on Michelson’s face._ _

__He’s really, really not._ _

__***_ _

__“ _What, are these all the Mudbloods? This cannot be it_.” One of the Death Eaters raises his wand and holds it to Niall’s throat; the blond boy (who’s unfortunately awake by this point) screws his eyes shut and clamps his lips together, refusing to let out a noise of fear. Liam’s heart twists and his breath is coming short. Are all his friends going to die tonight? Niall as well as Louis and Zayn? And God, where’s Harry? _ _

__“ _You have until I count to ten to reveal yourselves, filth, or he dies_.”_ _

__Liam’s almost tempted to step up himself, if it’ll take that wand away from Niall’s throat. Anyway to stop this nightmare that’s feeling increasingly unreal, this black terror that’s descended over what should have been the best night of all of their lives._ _

__Another sobbing Muggleborn joins the small frightened crowd already up there, and Liam turns his head away, his chest heaving helplessly. The Muggleborn girl he’d prevented from going up there rests a hand on his arm in meager comfort, but he barely even feels it—everything but the horrific scene going on in the center of the crowd is receding at this point. Nothing but this horrifying prequel to the murder that’s sure to happen feels real._ _

__“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “Liam, look at me.”_ _

__He raises his tear-swollen eyes to hers—she looks pale and nearly dead of fright, but she’s still standing. She’s in more danger than him, and she’s still going strong._ _

__“It’s going to be okay,” she repeats, which is nothing more than a pretty lie, but he appreciates it. Hopefully she believes it._ _

__“ _There still aren’t enough of you up here_ ,” the Death Eater sing-songs, and there’s a chorus of hideous laughter from the others standing up there. “ _I think it’s time for some . . ._ ” He draws his wand slowly across Niall’s throat; it leaves no mark but the Irish boy lets out a terrible, drawn-out wail of agony. “ _Punishment._ ”_ _

__Liam swears he’s going to be sick—there are Muggleborns stumbling up there with tears on their faces and shaking shoulders, Muggleborns pleading the Death Eaters to leave the hostages along—so many brave, selfless people willing to sacrifice themselves to save just two people, but—_ _

__They’re forcing Niall to his knees, and Louis is screaming, straining against his bonds in an effort to make them stop, and Liam can see Harry racing towards the front of the crowd, just like Liam himself is fighting his way up with his wand drawn, ready to go down fighting—and oh, God, Zayn’s up there somewhere frightened and alone, and all Liam wants to do is make sure no one in the world can hurt him again—_ _

__The sky explodes into a thousand fireballs, and then everyone is reeling, struggling to shield their eyes from the fiery orange light that’s dancing across the night sky. The heat is almost unbearable, but that’s not bothering Liam as much as the way people are scattering in all directions, the way they’re clearing a space to let something land._ _

__Something._ _

__A dragon._ _

__Snufflelus._ _

__Another gust of fire is directed towards the Death Eater, far enough away to not harm the hostages but close enough that the forerunners of the group are enveloped in uncomfortable heat. A hundred curses streak towards Snufflelus, which seems to puzzle the large creature a bit, but they rebound harmlessly off of his scales without doing a bit of damage. For a few seconds, there’s just utter screaming chaos on the ground, and then someone—two people—climb off Snufflelus’s back and step out from the clouds of smoke and flame to confront the Death Eaters._ _

__One of them is holding the other in front of them like a human shield, so Liam can’t see who it is, but the person in front is definitely Michelson._ _

__“Let them go,” the second person says, their voice magically amplified and beautifully familiar. “Let them go or he dies.”_ _

__The person shifts Michelson—who’s whimpering and shivering—just a little and—_ _

__Liam falls to his knees as they give away from sheer relief._ _

__It’s Zayn._ _

__“ _You don’t have the guts_ ,” one of the Death Eaters snarls. “ _You don’t have the guts to kill him, little boy_.”_ _

__Zayn flourishes his wand with bored, deadly precision, and the Death Eater in question drops to the ground, struggling against thorny ropes that bind him tighter the more he moves._ _

__“Do I want to kill him?” Zayn asks no one in particular. “No. I’m not like you. But I do have a very angry dragon right behind me, if you haven’t noticed, and those happen to be my friends you’re holding, so if you think that if it comes down to it, I’d be squeamish about ridding the world of this idiot, you’re sadly mistaken, and quite frankly, as big of an idiot as he is.” He prods his wand into Michelson’s back, and Snufflelus snarls and rears up behind him. “Make your choice, dickhead.”_ _

__“ _Release them_ ,” hisses the Death Eater Zayn cursed, and the rest of them hurry to obey, cutting Louis and Niall’s ropes and shoving them toward Zayn. Liam can hear Louis say, “Bro,” very softly as he stumbles towards Zayn, but Zayn just shakes his head. _ _

__“Get behind me, it’s not over yet,” he says quietly, and the other two boys hasten to obey._ _

__“You’ll note the very large dragon I still have,” Zayn says. “A very large, very angry, very uncursable dragon. Who can breathe fire.”_ _

__“ _We see it_ ,” a Death Eater says with a significant note of trepidation in his voice. _ _

__“Right. Well, the only reason I haven’t been telling me dragon to blaze you lot up it because I didn’t want to hurt my friends. Who, you’ll note, are now out of your clutches and standing safely behind me.”_ _

__As if for effect, Snufflelus casually shoots a jet of white-hot flame into the air._ _

__“So there’s really nothing stoppin’ me from burning you lot up, is there?”_ _

__“ _Please_ ,” the Death Eater says, his voice breaking now that he realizes the true danger. There’s nothing you can do to protect yourself against a wave of dragon fire. Nothing. _ _

__“ _Please_ ,” another one says, falling to his knees much like Liam had, only it’s not out of relief this time. _ _

__“Please what?” Zayn asks, his voice soft and steely and enunciating each word very clearly. For a moment, even Liam is afraid of him._ _

__“ _Please—the dragon—we’ll do anything—_ ”_ _

__“Anything?” Zayn asks, and from the triumphant tone of his voice, Liam knows that he has the Death Eater exactly where he wants them. “Like giving me your wands and standing quietly without struggling until the Ministry arrives?”_ _

__“ _Like that_ ,” the Death Eater says, and his deep, eerie, magically amplified voice doesn’t sound so strong and frightening anymore. It sounds like the voice of a man who’s been beaten by the very thing he’d hoped to eradicate. _ _

__“Then I might just spare you after all,” Zayn says brightly. “Accio wands!”_ _

__And then they obey him—stand there huddled and helpless like the Muggleborns had only minutes earlier, stand there silent while the malicious, vengeful crowd jeers and boos and throws things at them, calling out names and threats, stand there petrified while Zayn watches them closely from Snufflelus’s back like some sort of avenging dragon prince, his head held high and his expression unreadable. Liam got on his feet at some point—he has no memory of doing so, but it must have happened because he’s standing now—but he doesn’t approach any of the other boys. No one else is moving, either. It still doesn’t feel safe._ _

__The Ministry does come, eventually, and they take the subdued Death Eaters away in chains. It’s only then that Zayn dismounts from Snufflelus and sweeps Niall and Louis up into an enormous hug, and the crowd finally starts breathing again, and everyone runs to their friends and family and embraces them and everyone, eventually, starts weeping._ _

__Liam, for his part, stands frozen as Harry races across the pitch to fling himself in Louis’ arms. Finally, he turns to the girl who he’d pretended was Ruth, and gives her a hug, just because it’s the only thing he can think of doing._ _

__“I don’t even know your name,” he says after a moment, and when he draws back, she’s smiling and crying and shaking a little._ _

__“Ana,” she says. “My name is Ana. Liam—thank you so much for—for keeping me alive.”_ _

__“It was the least I could do,” he says, because he owed it to someone to give his protection. Then he casts a quick glance over his shoulder to where the boys are still reuniting in Snufflelus’s shadow. “D’you mind—?”_ _

__“Not at all,” she says, and he takes off running._ _

“Liam!” four voices scream as one, and he’s drawn into the heap of tears and tangled limbs and _I thought you were going to die_ ’s. 

“Liam,” Zayn repeats, softer, gentler, taking Liam’s face in both hands. “ _Leeyum_.” 

__“Zayn,” Liam says, because it’s the only thing he can think of saying, and then there, after the worst experience of their lives, under the wings of a dragon, in front of half the wizarding population of England, Liam kisses him, fierce and relieved and urgent and passionate._ _

__Zayn, hands still gentle on either side of Liam’s face, kisses him back._ _

__***_ _

__There’s a press circus afterwards, of course. There’s a press circus when anything happens, ever, and especially when the cult revivers of the wizarding world’s greatest villain try to kill an entire demographic at the National Quidditch Cup and then get stopped by a seventeen-year-old with a dragon._ _

__Zayn still can’t entirely believe that happened, to be honest. Much less that he was the one who did it._ _

__There are about a billion photographers and reporters and Aurors who wants to talk to him and Louis and Niall and for some reason Hagrid (perhaps because he technically owns Snufflelus), and all he can do is let himself be swept up in the massive tidal wave of craziness, even if it means missing a good deal of school. He gets thousands of letters requesting interviews, thanking him for his actions, or offering him jobs with the Ministry (or sometimes, less reputable organizations). He has to tell the Head Auror about a thousand times that no, he doesn’t want to join the force, he actually wants to be a magical zoologist with a specialty in dragons, because for some reason such a choice is incomprehensible to the man._ _

__But nothing really matters except that almost everyone who had been there that night had gotten out alive—there’d been no casualties other than the people who’d been killed in the very beginning, and even though it sort of haunts Zayn, that he couldn’t save them too, it’d only been seven people. Only seven people out of thousands had died, and he had saved them._ _

__“I think we should come up with a cool nickname for you,” Louis says when they visit him and Niall in St. Mungo’s (they insist they’re fine, but the Healers want to have them under observation for a bit just so they know that there aren’t any long-lasting effects of the curses the Death Eaters had used). “Y’know how they called Harry Potter the Chosen One? We should call you the Quidditch Cup Hero, or summat.”_ _

__“Please don’t,” Zayn says, and Louis laughs, his clear blue filled with a glowing affection that tells Zayn had grateful he really is._ _

__“What about the Flying Vengeance?” Niall asks teasingly. “The Lord of the Snuffling Dragon? The Fiery Avenger?”_ _

__“I wish I was an Avenger,” Zayn says, but the reference to Muggle comics is lost on his friends._ _

__“Oh, let ‘im be,” Liam says warmly, reaching out to throw an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and press a kiss to his temple. “I know you lot are happy he did what he did.”_ _

__“Of course we are,” Louis says, “doesn’t mean we can’t still take the piss out of him, though. In fact, him being a national hero means that we actually have to take the piss of him even more so he doesn’t get a big head.” He turns to Zayn with an apologetic expression. “It’s for y’own good, mate, sorry.”_ _

__“I won’t forget your kindness when I’m the Minister,” Zayn says dryly, turning his head to kiss Liam’s wrist when it lays on his shoulder._ _

__“Would you want to be?” Liam asks curiously (Zayn notes that his cheeks still color a little at the touch of Zayn’s lips, and files the information away for further notice)._ _

__“Want to be what?”_ _

__“The Minister.”_ _

__“God, no,” he says. “I want to be a professional dragon geek for the rest of me life, thanks. Even more now that one’s saved my life.”_ _

__“Good,” Harry says briskly. “Don’t think that Liam would make a very good Minister’s wife.”_ _

__“Wouldn’t be my wife, now, would he,” Zayn says after a short pause during which Liam turns even redder._ _

__“Don’t discriminate,” Harry says, which doesn’t even make sense. Zayn’s long since stopped trying to understand that boy’s mind, frankly._ _

__Once the initial fuss dies down, the papers get interested in him and Liam again—a development which Zayn feels should not have surprised him, but sort of does. He’d actually thought that they’d find something better to write about, but apparently the fact that he’s now a figure of national celebrity does nothing but make their relationship more interesting. He’s not exactly complaining this time around, though—as he’d predicted all that time ago, it’s strangely elating to have people celebrating a real relationship that gives him real happiness rather than a feel of insufficiency._ _

__“Not that I’m really sure why people thinking we were dating before made you feel insufficient,” Liam says when he cracks a joke along such lines. “I mean, have you seen you?”_ _

__Zayn has a laugh already on his lips when he sees that Liam’s looking at him with the utmost seriousness._ _

__“Ah, shut it,” he mumbles, ducking his head and feeling hot blood rush to his cheeks. “I’m—just shut it.”_ _

__Liam watches him with an unreadable expression for a moment and then crosses the room to wrap his arms around Zayn from behind. “M’not very good with words,” he murmurs, his lips brushing Zayn’s ear and large hands spanning the distance between Zayn’s hips in a way that makes Zayn shiver, feeling terribly small and yet at the same time stronger than he’s ever been, “so I can’t really tell you how I feel. But one day I’m gonna show you the way I see you.”_ _

__“Whatever you say, lover dearest,” Zayn says lightly, but he can already feel the shivers from the inside._ _

__***_ _

__Liam’s flat is in London._ _

__It’s very nice._ _

__Zayn doesn’t get a chance to see much of it before Liam’s pinning him against the wall and kissing him hard and hungrily, one arm braced on the wall beside his head and the other hand gentle against his cheek, tilting his face up. Zayn makes a soft, almost desperate sound that he’s not entirely proud of before winding both arms around Liam’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies are entirely flush, fitted together like two puzzle pieces._ _

__“Babe,” he breathes out, pulling back a little. “Babe, are you sure?”_ _

__“I am if you are,” Liam says instantly._ _

__Zayn can feel a smile curling up his mouth, and he leans in again, traces the line of Liam’s neck with his lips and bites down softly on his collarbone, coaxing a low groan out of the other boy._ _

__“I’m sure,” he whispers against the faint redness his teeth left behind. “I’m sure.”_ _

__“You—” Zayn grins and presses his lips against Liam’s pulse point; the other boy’s breath stutters a bit. “God, you—God, I want—I want—”_ _

__“Hopefully, to go to your bedroom,” Zayn says lightly, leaning back and dropping a soft kiss on Liam’s nose. “I love you, but I’m not fucking you here against the wall in your foyer.”_ _

__Liam goes very still. “Do you?” he asks softly._ _

__“Do I what?”_ _

__“Love me.”_ _

__Zayn tilts his head back a little to look Liam in the face; his eyes are wide and endlessly brown and filled with that earnestness that Zayn loves so much. He looks beautiful and out of breath and entirely Zayn’s._ _

__“I love you,” Zayn says quietly. “Think I’ve always sort of loved you, t’be honest. From the first moment you slammed into me outside of Honeyduke’s.”_ _

__“Don’t bring that up now,” Liam groans, resting his head against the wall next to Zayn’s with a slight thud. “That was so fucking embarrassing, Zayn.”_ _

__“That’s exactly why I brought it up,” Zayn says with a grin, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “I had to lighten the mood somehow.”_ _

__“I fuckin’ hate you,” Liam mutters._ _

__“You should have warned me this was going to be hate sex,” Zayn says, mock offended. “I didn’t think we’d be going in for the whips and paddles the first time around, Liam.”_ _

__Liam turns an adorable bright red color, and Zayn’s sure his sides are going to burst from laughing._ _

__“Let’s get you to the bedroom and shut you up, then,” Liam says after a moment, and then, to Zayn’s great surprise and considerable delight, picks him up easily, slings him over one shoulder, and takes them away to the bedroom._ _

__“An obvious and somewhat clumsy seduction,” Zayn quips as Liam closes the door behind them, “but I’ll take it, Sir Payne.”_ _

__Liam puts him gently down on the bed. “Hey, I’m trying.”_ _

__Zayn’s about to make another joke when he realizes that Liam actually looks a bit hurt. “Hey,” he says immediately, reaching up to take Liam around the waist again and pull him carefully down on top off him, “hey, m’just messing with you, babe. You’re—”_ _

__“Please don’t tell me I’m doing a good job,” Liam says, laughing a little. “That’d be so awkward.”_ _

__“The picking up thing was really hot,” Zayn says, sliding a hand up and down Liam’s back gently. “And there’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with, but if m’honest I’m also sort of shitting myself right now, so I’m making jokes to cover it up.”_ _

__“I know, babe,” Liam says softly, leaning down to kiss him. “I know.”_ _

__Their lips meet, the kiss turning heated within seconds; Zayn can feel Liam’s tongue in front of the sharp slickness of his teeth and he lets out a soft moan when Liam bites at his lower lips a little, canting his hips up to relieve the aching hardness._ _

__“Mm, stay still f’me,” Liam whispers. “Be a good boy and stay still, yeah? No touching.”_ _

__Zayn groans, but the words and the way that Liam settles on top of him, knees on either side of his hips and their groins pressed together to give a little them both a little friction, makes him even harder. There’s something unspeakably arousing about Liam taking control of them both, putting his Quidditch-hardened body to use against Zayn’s smaller frame, and Zayn’s only too happy to surrender to the way Liam braces his arms on either side of Zayn’s head and leans down to kiss him, first on his slightly swollen lips and then down his neck. He leaves a mark on Zayn’s throat, in the same place Liam has a birthmark on his own, and Zayn whimpers at the scrape of his teeth against his skin, trying not buck his hips up again._ _

__“Good,” Liam breathes again his skin, grinding down a little and pausing to watch to effect it has on Zayn. “Bein’ real good, babe.”_ _

__“Liam—”_ _

__“Really good,” he repeats, leaning down again to kiss him and then fumble with his shirt, drawing it over Zayn’s head clumsily. Zayn feels a little exposed, a little stupid being half-stripped when Liam’s still fully clothed, but Liam’s looking at him with such wonder that he can’t help but shove his insecurities to the back of his head and just watch as Liam kisses down his throat again, gives him a matching bite on his collarbone, and trails his lips down his ribs and stomach after pressing them to the inked lipstick on his chest. “So beautiful, Z.”_ _

__“Shut—”_ _

__But Liam cuts him off by kissing him off and then drawing back to look him in the eyes earnestly and say, “Beautiful.”_ _

__Zayn squirms a little, turning his head away and feeling the burn of a blush creep up his chest. Liam smiles teasingly, grinding down again in slow, torturous circles before gently thrusting into Zayn’s groin and making him gasp._ _

__“No moving, remember?”_ _

__“Liam,” Zayn groans, and then breaks, reaching up to grab Liam and pull him down for a fierce, blazing kiss. “If you don’t get out of those clothes, I swear—”_ _

__“Fine, fine.”_ _

__Liam draws back and pulls off his shirt, revealing a pair of broad, muscled shoulders and a solid chest that makes Zayn’s own body look pathetic in comparison—he doesn’t have much time to dwell on that thought, however, because Liam’s kicking off his jeans next, until he’s stripped to only his boxers and turning to Zayn with a playful smile._ _

__“Your turn, beautiful.”_ _

__Before Zayn can even file a complaint as to the cheesy nature of the endearment, Liam’s unbuttoning his pants and drawing them down over his hips, lips brushing over the trail of hair that disappears into his boxers and lingering at the waistband for a moment before he lets Zayn kick off the pants entirely._ _

__“M’gonna suck you off, beautiful, s’that all right?” Liam asks, moving his hips in those unbearably arousing circles and making Zayn’s cock twitch helplessly in his boxers. “Then m’gonna finger you open so you’re loose and ready f’me and then put your legs over my shoulders and—”_ _

__He breaks off in a helpless groan as Zayn rocks his hips up to meet his grinding, their movements quickly finding a rhythm that has them both pulsing in their boxers, a wet patch appearing in between both of their legs._ _

__“I’m gonna fuck you so slow and careful that you’ll be begging me to pound into you—and then when we’re ready, when we’re both on the edge—I’ll fuck into you hard and fast so you’ll feel me in you in the morning—everyone will see you limping and know that you’re mine—and I’m yours . . .”_ _

“ _God_ , shut up,” Zayn pants, fingers scratching Liam’s bare back as they curl up from the shocks of pleasure the friction is sending down his spine. “Stop t-talking . . . before I come in me boxers right here and now . . .” 

__“If you say so,” Liam grins, and then, in one smooth movement, pulls down the front of Zayn’s boxers and swallows him to the root._ _

__Zayn’s vision has stars at the edges at the sensation of Liam flattening his tongue on the underside of Zayn’s cock; his toes curl when his head hits the back of Liam’s throat and Liam swallows hard, gagging a little before pulling off and shooting Zayn a rather smug grin._ _

__“Enjoying yourself, Malik?”_ _

__“Not if you don’t get back down there, I swear,” Zayn chokes out, and then groans as Liam swallows him back down._ _

__When he’s on the edge and squirming from the effort of holding himself back, Liam pulls off again and palms himself through the boxers he’s still wearing, his eyes blown out with lust as he watches Zayn pant desperately on the sheets below him._ _

__“You look,” Liam says, his eyes scanning up and down Zayn’s exposed body, “so fucking beautiful like this.”_ _

__“I try,” Zayn manages, and then chokes on his own words as Liam pulls down his boxers and begins to jerk himself off, eyes still fixed hungrily, desperately on Zayn._ _

__“You wanna open up your legs for me, beautiful?” Liam asks after a moment. “M’just gonna—”_ _

__And then his hand is between Zayn’s legs, stroking his cock briefly and giving his sensitive balls a light squeeze before moving downwards to his hole, a dry thumb pressing up against his entrance for a second before Liam withdraws—Zayn whimpers, too turned on and desperate to be filled to be ashamed of the noises that are coming out of his mouth—and Zayn hears the faint _snick_ of the cap being taken off a lube bottle._ _

__“Ready, babe?” Liam asks gently, his fingers back at Zayn’s entrance, circling the rim to get it wet without actually pushing inside. “Just slowly at first, yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Zayn chokes out, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving, his cock pulsing against his stomach. He’s never wanted someone inside him this badly—all he can think of is the dull, arousing ache of Liam’s thick fingers massaging him open, and then later, when Zayn is loose and ready and open, the stretch of his—_ _

__Liam pushes inside with a gentle finger and Zayn bites back a moan as fiery pain creeps up his spine for a split second before the feeling of warmth coils up in his stomach. Liam quietly works the finger inside of him, the silence only broken by Liam’s soft grunts, Zayn’s heavy breathing, and the filthy wet sounds of the lube being worked into Zayn’s hole. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on, with the way Liam looks strangely focused and the faint prick of pain that’s turning his insides to liquid pleasure._ _

__“You good?” Liam asks, and he sounds out of breath, like just seeing Zayn fall apart from his finger is destroying him. “Ready for another one?”_ _

__“Yeah—God, yes, just go—”_ _

__And now the thickness of two of Liam’s fingers is stretching him open, scissoring apart to make him groan, his head falling back to expose his marked-up throat and his fingers scrabbling for a hand hold in the sheets._ _

__“Liam, God, fuck—”_ _

__He’s trying not to buck up his hips because Liam said be good, stay still—he’s trying so fucking hard, but he needs something to be touching his cock the same way he needs to breathe right now—_ _

__“Liam, please—”_ _

__Liam thrusts a little deeper, adds another finger—Zayn almost sobs, grinding back down onto Liam’s hand until he’s nearly fucking himself on Liam’s fingers, trying to stretch himself open faster—Liam, God bless him, takes Zayn’s cock in one hand and pumps him once, twice, just to satiate the need for a touch. There’s three fingers now, and Zayn feels like he might split in two, but the slight pain is only serving to make him harder. Liam finds his prostate, fingers it mercilessly until he feels like he’s made of jelly in the sheets, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he presses down against Liam with every thrust. He can see Liam stroking himself with his free hand, eyes half-lidded and hungry as he swallows up the sight of Zayn squirming helplessly in the sheets, a plea for more already forming on his lips._ _

__When Zayn feels like he’s nearly gaping from Liam stretching him open, Liam pulls out—Zayn lets out a soft noise of protest as he clenches around nothing, suddenly feeling terribly empty—and then he nears the crinkle of a condom being ripped open._ _

__“Y’still good, babe?” Liam asks gently, leaning down to kiss the inside of Zayn’s thigh. “Ready?”_ _

__“Yeah, m’ready.”_ _

__“Okay.” Liam looks at him seriously before lining up with Zayn’s entrance. “You’ll tell me if anything hurts or, like, isn’t good, right?”_ _

__“Of course,” Zayn says, because he can tell that Liam’s a bit nervous about this. “You’re still good too, yeah?”_ _

__“Of course,” Liam mimics fondly. He bends down again and kisses the tip of Zayn’s nose in a way that might have been silly if it hadn’t been so affectionate. “You’re a fucking masterpiece, you know that?”_ _

__Zayn looks at him for a long moment and then says, “You’re not so bad yourself, Payne.”_ _

__“Maybe that’s why we’re boyfriends,” Liam says, and then before Zayn can reply, starts to push in._ _

__If Zayn had thought that he’d been stretched open before, it’s nothing compared to the burn now as he expands to fit Liam inside of him. It’s right on the edge of being painful as Liam slowly pushes all the way in and then stops, buried in Zayn to the root, but a moment later Zayn adjusts and experimentally pushes back a little, gasping when it sends a shock of pleasure through him._ _

__“Good for me to move?” Liam asks and Zayn chokes out some sort of affirmation that’s apparently enough for Liam, because he starts thrusting—slow and shallow at first to let Zayn adjust to the feeling of Liam moving inside of him, and then a little faster and deeper once they’ve both gotten used to it._ _

__Liam’s as good as his word, though—he fucks into Zayn with all the passion and finesse he’d promised, his strokes slow and deep and nearly too much to bear. Zayn’s groans are almost ripped out of him by the deep, burning pleasure coiling in his stomach, the fingers of one hand dragging along Liam’s back every time the other boy changes his thrusts to rub up against Zayn’s sweet spot. His other hand is cupped around himself so he can grind against his own fingers, the feeling of being pleasured in two different spots making him cry out desperately._ _

Zayn’s never been one for begging in bed—he’s always preferred to keep his dignity and his wits about him—but Liam is making him shamelessly plead for _more, faster, harder, deeper_. He’s fairly sure that he sounds like an amateur porn star, but he can’t really be bothered with that right now, because he’s also quite sure that if Liam doesn’t fuck into him harder _right now_ , he’s going to explode. 

__“My beautiful good boy,” Liam whispers against Zayn shoulder, “my beautiful, beautiful boy.”_ _

__“Yours,” Zayn manages, “m’yours, Liam, _please_ —” _ _

__“Faster?” Liam asks, swiveling his hips downwards to grind in tiny slow circles because he’s a fucking tease and Zayn _hates_ him—_ _

“ _Yes_ , fucking faster,” Zayn says, pressing up against Liam’s thrusts until he’s arching his back shamelessly and—ah, fuck, Liam snaps his hips forward without warning, flinging Zayn forward a good inch or so with the force of the thrust—and God, it feels so good, _it feels so good_ Zayn swears he’s gonna die from the way Liam’s fucking into him now, the shivers running down his spine and gathering in his lower stomach—there’s heat unraveling inside of him and spreading out long warm fingers that stroke him to his edge just as Liam fucks into him harder than ever, the thrusts rough and fast and deep. 

__“Liam, m’gonna—”_ _

__“Me too, babe,” Liam pants, his arms shaking where they’re braced by Zayn’s shoulders, “me too.”_ _

__The way they spill over the edge is messy and uncoordinated—Liam goes first, biting down on Zayn’s shoulder to muffle an almost pained noise, and Zayn coming a moment later after Liam gives him a few quick strokes, his fingers twisting the sheets so hard that if he had the presence of mind, he’d be afraid of ripping them._ _

__In the aftermath, they kick back the filthy blankets and curl up together on the cool mattress sheet, their breathing hard and labored and in perfect unison. Liam gathers Zayn—who still feels limp and boneless—into his arms and Zayn tucks his head into the crook of Liam’s neck, fingers curling helplessly at the back of Liam’s head._ _

__“How’re you feeling?” Liam murmur after a moment of both of them catching their breath._ _

__“Feeling well and truly fucked,” Zayn deadpans, and then feels as Liam’s shoulders shake with laughter. “It wasn’t that funny.”_ _

__“It was sort of funny,” Liam says. “In a dorky kind of way.”_ _

__“Unsurprising, seeing as it came from your dorky boyfriend.”_ _

__There’s a long silence as they just breathe together for a bit, feeling the warmth of the other by their side and the stillness of room soak into them._ _

__“I love you too, you know,” Liam says quietly after a while._ _

__“Sorry?” Zayn cranes his neck up a little to see Liam’s expression; he’s staring at the ceiling, his face contemplative. When he sees Zayn looking at him, he turns his head, a slight, soft smile on his lips._ _

__“From earlier. You said you loved me, and I just realized I never said it back. So like. I wanted you to know. I love you, too.”_ _

__Zayn smiles at him and reaches up to bring their faces together, his lips lingering over Liam’s. “I knew that, Leeyum.”_ _

__“You knew that?” Liam repeats, and there’s an expression of wonder on his face when he kisses Zayn gently, like Zayn’s something from another world._ _

__“Yeah,” Zayn says, “I knew that.”_ _

__***_ _

_LIAM PAYNE: “I’M ON TOP OF THE WORLD”  
Written by Lhysa Martinfield, Daily Prophet Columnist _

___Q: Hi, Liam! How’ve you been?_ _ _

___A: I’ve been doing great, thanks. We—well, I know you already know this, but the Tornadoes are playing for England in the World Cup this year, and I just found that out yesterday, so, yeah. I’m buzzing._ _ _

___Q: This is obviously a huge development for both the team and for you as a player. Do you think you’re up to the challenges?_ _ _

___A: Well, I’ve never had more faith in us as a team. We’re more united than ever, and we’ve been at the top of our game this season. I think that bringing in me mate Niall as assistant coach as given us all a huge confidence boost—he really believes in the strength and talent of our team, and I think that really shows in the way he helps coach us. He gives us faith in ourselves, which is really what a great coach should do._ _ _

___Q: And for you as an individual player?_ _ _

___A: I mean, all I’ve ever tried to do is my best. Whether that’s really any good enough for this match remains to be seen. But we’ve all been training and conditioning really hard ever since we heard that we might be contending, so I think that’s really improved me as a player. With my team behind me, I think that I really have a fighting chance, even against Japan, who has an abosutely insane Chaser force. But I don’t wanna speak too soon!_ _ _

___Q: Is there anyone in particular you’d like to thank for getting the team this far?_ _ _

___A: Erm—the team, I suppose. Our coach Paddy. Niall, like I said before. (laughs) Oh, and Niall’s girlfriend Penelope (Maximus, professional WWWN chef) for bringing snacks to practice all the time. And on a more serious note, all the fans, for believing in us. Without their support, I don’t think we’d have had the strength to fight sa hard as we have._ _ _

___Q: Moving a bit away from the topic of Quidditch, may I ask you about your relationship with the rest of the team? Both on the field and off it, you all seem to be an extremely united force, as well as very close friends._ _ _

___A: Well, like I said, we’ve never been more united. I think that it’s very important to make sure you like the people that you’re going to rely on so heavily in the field. Otherwise, what’s the point? At the very least, you should be able to put aside petty differences for the sake of the team. We all realize that Quidditch—the binding force that holds us all together—can’t be conquered if we don’t get along._ _ _

___Q: So would you say that it’s a friendship of necessity rather than real affection?_ _ _

___A: Oh, no! That’s not what I meant to say at all. Obviously, I love all my teammates as people as well as players. And it definitely makes it easier when everyone’s likeable, you know? We all get on great, but what I was trying to say before was that strong relationships off the field are important on the field as well. So it’s great that we all genuinely like each other, because it makes us stronger when we’re playing._ _ _

___Q: Ah, I see now, thanks for clarifying, Liam! May I ask about a certain engagement involving one of your teammates and my boss?_ _ _

___A: Well—I always sort of knew Harry [Styles, editor in chief of the Daily Prophet] and Louis [Tomlinson, Seeker for the Tutshill Tornadoes] were meant for each other, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise for me when they announced the engagement. I’m honestly so happy for them! I know everyone’s been making a really big deal out of it, but I think they’ve done a really great job of keeping the wedding grounded and private even with all the craziness._ _ _

___Q: And can you tell us when the wedding is?_ _ _

___A: I think Louis would kill me if I told you the exact date, but it’s next year in the spring._ _ _

___Q: A spring wedding—how lovely. I’m sure it’ll be quite the affair. Can you tell us about your own love life?_ _ _

___A: (blushes) I knew you were gonna ask me about Zayn [Malik, head of the magical zoology sub-department in the Ministry of Magic and author of The Inner Flame: Dragonic Psychology and Society]. He just came back from a two-month trip to China—he’s publishing a paper about dragons in Asia next year, so he’s been doing a lot of research lately. Every time he’s away, though, we write each other constantly. We joke around a lot that it’s just like in the good old days, when we had to write all the time because he was at Hogwarts and I was with the Tornadoes._ _ _

___Q: Do you ever worry about him when he goes away? Studying dragons can’t really be a very safe field._ _ _

___A: You know, I get that question a lot and everyone’s always surprised when I say that I don’t really worry much. Zayn’s a very capable wizard—very smart, very talented, and he has a real gift for calming animals down. I’ve never seen anything like it. The first time I ever visited him at Hogwarts, he took for a ride on the back of the dragon he kept at the time, and it acted like a dog around him. Animals just totally love him, and I’ve never seen one come even close to hurting him._ _ _

___Q: It’s really phenomenal that two such talented people found each other in the way that you two did! You’re often referred to as one of the two LGBTQIA power couples of wizarding Englad—the other, of course, being your friends Louis and Harry. Should we be expecting another power couple wedding coming up any time soon?_ _ _

___A: Erm . . . when is this article being published?_ _ _

___Q: In a few weeks, I think. Let me check—oh, not until May._ _ _

___A: Oh, all right then. He’ll know by May, I guess. So, I, uh—well, I might have a ring. And a special dinner planned. It’s our five year anniversary in two weeks. So I’m going to ask him then._ _ _

___Q: And do you think he’ll say yes?_ _ _

___A: (laughs) God, I hope so. I think he will. I’m almost sure he will._ _ _

___Q: So the future’s looking bright for you, so far_ _ _

___A: I think I’ve gotten as close as anyone can get to happily ever after._ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> aaaand that's a wrap! I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this fic; it was a crazy, intense, and often frustrating journey, so I'm hoping you guys liked it! thank you so much for reading, and if you'd like, please leave comments and kudos to let me know if you enjoyed it:D love you all loadssss
> 
> if you'd like to send me prompts/feedback, get updates on new fics, or just have a chat, come visit me on [tumblr](http://iambluehead.tumblr.com)!


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